Gods of Vegas
by RebelByrdie
Summary: Tragedy, swift and violent, strikes at the heart of Vegas and the entire world is left reeling. The team must race the clock to find those responsible before they strike again, to save Vegas and themselves before it's too late.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, premises of or anything to do with the television show, CSI. I make no financial gain from the production of this twisted tale. All recognizable material is the property of the creators and the television networks who hold the contract rights there of. All "original" characters are fictional and any similarities to existing or deceased (or other fictional) persons is completely coincidental and no harm or offence is intended.

**Rated M for Mature:** Graphic scenes of Violence, Adult Situations and Themes, Nudity, Disturbing Imagery and Course Language.

**Femeslash Warning:** The following story includes adult relationships between persons of the same sex. Femeslash ahead, folks. If the idea of a loving relationship between two consenting adults who just happen to both be female somehow offends you, please stop reading now.

In all honesty, there are both femslash and heterosexual relationships in this tale. I would list them, but I don't feel like giving everything up in the first bit. Some are already established cough Sara/Sofia cough, others have been HEAVILY allueded to, all in all I don't think there are too many surprises in the 'ship department...or are there? (insert evil laughter right here)

**Spoiler Warning:** The following story contains spoilers from the Season 6 finale, _Way to Go_. If, for whatever reason, you have yet to see this episode and do not wish to know what has occurred, stop reading now. Come back when you're sure you won't be spoiled. I'll still be here, wondering when you're going to get back…waiting…alone by the computer.

Further more, this is the third story in a three part series. At this point, it is probably necessary to have read the two preceding stories, _Angels of Vegas_ and _Demons of Vegas_ to follow the plot and characters completely.

**Author's Note:** This is the third and final installment of the 'Of Vegas Trilogy'. It had been a pretty long trip from the beginning and we're not quite through yet. This story, while keeping with the ensemble feeling, is going to focus on Gil Grissom a lot. I know, I'm surprised too. As previously stated, multiple times, I am not the biggest Grissom fan on the planet and I often struggle when I write him. So, this will definitely be a learning experience if nothing else.

I'm bringing back all the characters we've all grown to know and love. That's right, there shall be plenty of Sara, Sofia, Catherine, Warrick, Wendy, Lindsey, Lady Heather and yes, Dr. Cambridge Parker will be returning as well. I recieved a big positive response to her, which surprised me, honestly. Of course, one must take the good with the bad, so there will be a new criminal(s) for the team to track down and the return of someone from Grissom's past.

**Extended Author's Note and Disclaimer. PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE PROCEDING:** The plot, this time around, however, is one I have struggled with. After weighing it out and thinking about it and pondering, brooding and stewing, I have decided to put an M rating and a long disclaimer and use the plot anyway.

_Gods of Vegas_ deals with the subject of terrorism in the Post 9/11 World. It acknowledges the current climate and the participation of the American military on the world stage. I am not trying to belittle the loss of loved ones, or make any kind of political statement. This story is written with the utmost respect and sympathy for anyone and everyone who has lost someone to terrorism, and to all the soldiers who are risking, and have given their lives for or freedoms. Furthermore, this story deals with the themes of racism and paranoia, specifically pointed at people of Middle Eastern descent and those who follow the Islamic faith. The opinions and statements in this story in no way represent the author's feelings on above issues and are not meant to be offensive in any way.

If you are uncomfortable with the idea of reading something that deals with the above mentioned subjects, graphically at times, please stop reading now.

Character Owchies Ahead.

_Italics_ represent dream and flashback sequences, quotes and or television coverage.

Finally, before I stop yakking and get to the story, big thanks go out to HoneyLynx86 for beta-reading this for me.

Gods of Vegas

A CSI Tale

By RebelByrdie

_Prologue_

Jonas Wright had dropped out of high school in his junior year. Adulthood had settled heavily on his thin seventeen-year-old shoulders in the May of 1966 when his girlfriend, Dee, came up pregnant. He had done the honorable thing and married Dee and they'd brought Violet Marie Wright into the world. He'd worked in Casinos, in clubs, in warehouses, doing every kind of blue collar job a man could do in Vegas, but between that and Dee's waiting tables, they'd raised Violet and her younger brothers Byron and Oliver just fine. Violet was a Professor of English at WLVU and had given him two beautiful grandchildren. Byron had followed his passions and was a professional photographer and his wife had added another grandchild to the Wright brood. Oliver could do whatever he wanted to with computers, which was why the NSA had grabbed him right out of college and his wife, Renee was expecting twins. He still had his health and his wife who was still, in his eyes, as beautiful as she had been in high school. Yes, Jonas had lived a good life. He had worked hard and had done pretty damn well, if he didn't say so himself.

Now, he was a few years from retiring. He and Dee had scrimped and saved to get a modest home and then they'd scrimped and saved to put each of their three children through college and now they were carefully planning for their retirements. It wouldn't be fancy, but they would never have to panhandle.

Right now, though, it was eight fifty-three and he had a surprisingly empty load. He had spent the last ten years driving a city bus and he was quite content to spend his next few years with his butt firmly planted in the seat behind the wheel. He glanced in his mirror to look at his passengers.

There were two white-haired ladies right behind him, chattering about nickel-slots and bridge hands. He smiled at them, Gladys and Helen were regulars and he would drop them off at their bingo hall and would probably pick them up again around six. They needed to be home by eight, though, so they could watch their 'Evening Shows'.

Behind them were two tourists, he could spot them from a mile away. A young, just-married couple had their eyes glued to the window, oohing-and-awwing at the glitzy streets of Vegas.

A little further back a young man was dozing. His white shirt, which had probably started out starched and crisp, was limp and there was a stain on it. He was resting after a long shift of waiting tables, Jonas had been in his position and felt for the boy.

Directly across from him was a young woman. He wasn't exactly sure if she was rooting for the hero or the monster on the cover of her paper back. Though from the solid black attire, facial piercings, and the heavy metal pouring out of her earphones, he had a good idea.

In the far back was Alejandro. From looking at the young immigrant, one would immediately peg him as a bad guy, a gang member maybe. Jonas knew better. Alejandro, decked out in baggy pants and a scruffy wife beater was seriously considering entering the seminary to become a priest. If anyone had the heart to do so, Jonas knew it was the young man.

Another sweep brought something else to his attention. An abandoned backpack was sitting in an empty seat about half way back. He sighed and took one of his hands off of the wheel to wipe at his balding head. That was just great. Paper work and a side trip to the garage to take care of some forgetful idiot's bag. Perfect.

He hit his turn signal and his stoplights and slowly brought the bus to a stop at the red light. The intersection was huge and the traffic was thick. Driving in Vegas was like battling a constant rush hour while trying to weave through a gaggle of triathlon runners…it was challenging even on the dullest days.

While the pedestrians darted across the crosswalk in front of him, Jonas glanced up at the sun visor where he'd clipped a picture of his family and smiled. Gladys and Helen were in a heated discussion over Hearts versus Spades. The young couple had a bunch of pamphlets spread across their laps, trying to decide how to spend their evening. The tired waiter shifted ever so slightly, but did not open his eyes. The black clad girl licked her thumb and turned another page in her book and in the back Alejandro stared out of the window. The light turned green and Jonas eased on the gas, and began his wide turn.

Bus number twenty-seven exploded in a violent ball of red and yellow fire half way through the turn. Glass shattered outward and metal shrapnel ricocheted everywhere. Acrid smoke filled the air and the destroyed shell of the bus continued to move, plowing into other cars, spreading the carnage in a weaving path of destruction and death. The constant buzz on the Vegas streets was overwhelmed with screams and the still echoing shockwave of ear-drum bursting explosion.

The bus lost it's momentum when it jumped the curb and plowed into the sparkling plate glass window of the Vegas New Age Fitness Center. The spectacular crash of metal and glass echoed through the streets, harmonizing with the agonized screams and endless honking of car horns that had bodies laid across them.

**Author's Note (Yes, another):** Usually I prefer the 'less is more' approach. Not this time. As I said before, this is going to be a gritty and graphic story. I would really appreciate any feedback, positive or negative, on this story as I go along.


	2. Chapter I: A Triumphant Return

_Chapter I_

_A Triumphant Return_

She loved each and every one of them. She really did. They were her friends, her family, but so help her if they didn't stop fawning over her and let her get back to work, she was going to kill them. She had spent an entire month in the hospital. That was thirty days of horrible, all encompassing boredom. So she'd lost a couple of organs, her liver was mostly intact, she could live with one ovary and hey who needed two kidneys anyway. Even after they'd released her from the hospital there had been another month and a half of resting at home. That had been slightly better. Not that she'd gone home or anything. No, Sofia had said she'd been worried about the stairs in her complex so she had been installed in the other woman's condo, and had never quite extricated herself from it. Not that she minded, but she'd still been stuck. Then, to add insult to injury, literally, she'd had to go to counseling. Long, long hours of the psychologist talking to her about her feelings, about the case and being stabbed. Well the case had pissed her off and the whole being stabbed in the back thing had hurt, badly. Sara figured that just about summed her feelings on the matter up. Even if there were…lingering night terrors and other not-so-settled feelings, she would deal with them. She had always been able to hold herself together without having some head shrinker poking around her gray matter, Cami excepted, of course.

It had taken her forever to convince her counselor that she was just as sane as she'd ever been. Then she'd had to do it all over again for the department psychologist. Then there had been a really, really awkward meeting between herself and the sheriff. The long story short was that she was reinstated in full with no marks against her, but because she had been working outside of the department at the time of "the regretful event" she would not be receiving any sort of commendation or award. The most important thing that had come from the meeting was being given the go-ahead to come back to work. That had been a week ago.

She was ready to get back to the lab, get back to the field, get back to her normal life. She'd heard about all the cases she'd missed. Nick and Warrick had caught what they had dubbed the 'Christine' Killer, a guy who had rigged his car up with computer and robotics equipment so he could drive it from a remote location. He'd been aiming for his ex wife but had hit an eight year old instead. She would have loved to been there to help tear the car apart and see how it worked. Then Catherine and Greg had caught the case where a crazed fan had sabotaged some street magicians big act and he'd almost died. She would have really loved to have sat down and figured out the physics behind his 'Walk on Water' routine, but she'd been sidelined for that one too. Of course, she was kind of glad she had missed a couple of cases. Especially the ones that had involved long lemon-filled showers afterwards.

Of course, not working had given her time to do other things that she might not have had time for. Like helping Cami move all of her assorted belongings, and there were allot of them, from Seattle to Vegas. The woman had decided that she had, "Taken a shine to Vegas" which was Cami-eese for "I want to keep an eye on you". There had been brunches with Catherine- they were slowly feeling out their newfound friendship- and rowdy pizza and beer sessions with the guys, laser tag with Lindsey, dinners with Jim, and long quiet evenings with Sofia. She had gone from 'Needing to get out more' to needing a vacation from her vacation.

Right now though, she was standing outside of Grissom's office. Sofia knew she was coming, Catherine knew she was coming. Warrick knew she was coming. Grissom knew she was here and they all knew why. She was ready to come back. This minor set back, this incident was not going to stop her anymore, it had been almost three months, it was time, to quote Nick, "To get back in the saddle."

* * *

He knew she was right outside of his door. He could hear her footfalls as she paced, he could smell her subtle perfume. He knew why she was here. Sara was ready to come back to work. He knew that it was time for her to return. He knew that she was ready, he just wasn't quite sure if he was ready quite yet. 

Even now, months later, he could still see it, see her. She had almost died. He'd had her blood on his hands. It was something that would always stay with him. It was right up there with pulling Nicky out of the coffin. He had seen his entire team collapse that day, waiting for news. He had watched as her father-figure Jim Brass had comforted her lover, Sofia Curtis. He had watched her friends: Cambridge, Warrick, Nick and Greg pull together and comfort one another. He had stood apart. Now, he sighed and polished the lenses of his glasses one more time with the tail of his shirt. "Come in, Sara." The door opened and the woman stepped in.

Sara Sidle didn't look like the ghost-like ER patient that haunted his nightmares. She was tan and healthy, there was brightness in her chocolate brown eyes and her smile was wide and true. She looked good; no she looked great, radiant even. Sara being Sara, though, she got right to the point. "Griss, you have to let me come back to work." She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head ever so slightly. Her eyes were focused. What the Lab-Rats called the 'Sidle Fault' was in place. From years of friendship, or whatever it was they had, he knew that she could hold out just as long as he could; longer perhaps. He was about to voice his decision when his phone rang.

* * *

Sara wanted to indulge herself and stomp her foot. It was something she'd picked up from Linds who had probably picked it up from her mother. She had seen it in her boss's eyes, he was about to say something along the lines of 'If you feel you're ready to come back…' and then she could have gone to the break room and drank a celebratory round of coffee with the guys. Then that damn telephone rang and after a few moments of shuffling papers around to find it, Grissom answered the thing. 

Years of knowing the enigmatic entomologist allowed her to decipher the subtle changes on his face. When he gently placed the phone back in its cradle, the look on his face told her that something was terribly wrong. "Go get everyone, all Crims on deck." She didn't wait for the explanation, she knew she would get it when everyone else did, she just tuned on her heel and went to the break room to round everyone up.

As she rushed down the shadowy hallways, she had to smile. She was back!

Author's Note: I've done some "practice Grissoms" but I'm think I'm still missing something. Hopefully I'll figure it out before the end.


	3. Chapter II: Life and Death in Vegas

_Chapter II_

_Life and Death in Vegas_

The blue lights of marked cars blended with the red and white strobes of ambulances and fire engines. It seemed like every member of the LVPD, LVFD, and every other rescue worker in Clark County was headed for a single intersection. When the CSIs got there themselves, they understood why. It was as if someone had reached inside a disaster movie and had ripped a scene from the screen. Devastation lay everywhere. The still burning shell of a city bus was embedded in a building and cars that had been in it's path were strewn around like a cranky kindergartener's Matchbox cars. The stench of burning diesel and blood hung in the air, coating everything like a dense and depressing fog. Cries of terror and pain echoed everywhere. David, the coroner was on scene and Paramedics were already weaving in and out, triaging the injured and tagging the dead.

* * *

Gilbert Grissom had seen bus wrecks before; they were tragic and very deadly. The last one he'd worked had been in the desert, he'd never seen so much destruction right in the middle of the city. He was flanked by his team. They stood in a semi circle, all of them shocked and slightly taken-a-back by the horror spread before them. He could see uniforms trying to contain the crowd, and the detectives, Brass, Curtis, Vega and a few he knew by sight moving around, barking orders.

* * *

It was overwhelming. The sights, the smells. Sara had told her about the bus that had went off the highway; about how helpless she'd felt. Sofia had never worked a case like that, like this. It was a new feeling, seeing so many hurt and dead people…just lying there on the blackened and debris-laden concrete of the street. The air smelled of charred flesh and Sofia's stomach turned sourly. She swallowed the bile and turned to the next witness. The man was a native; he was dressed for the late September chill of the desert night. He looked at her, his muddy brown eyes glazed with shock. "I was just sitting in my truck when it exploded…I've never seen anything so bright, heard anything so loud. The whole bus just went up…kept going…hitting cars, people, then the building. I jumped out and ran towards them." Tears began to work down his ruddy face. Whether they were from the memory or the viscous looking second-degree burns that covered his arms and chest, Sofia didn't know. He continued in a shaky voice. "I ran towards the bus and tried to help the people inside. There were people in there, ma'am. Someone's gotta help them."

Sofia nodded, but she knew very well that the people who had been on the bus were far beyond any help they could offer. A paramedic handed the man a necklace with a color-coded triage tag. She smiled at him. "You're very brave, sir." She looked up, over at the smoldering bus. The preliminary guesses put ten people, give or take on the bus, twelve people in the building it had hit, three people on the street and two in a car that had been right beside it, all dead.

Embers rose into the hazy neon lit night sky and Sofia felt the chill of death through her jacket.

* * *

They watched, unable to help until the injured had been taken away. Gurnies laden with critically injured people rolled by them. Paramedics spoke in borderline-panicked tones laden with jargon and curses.

Heads sharply jerked around when a secondary explosion, the bus's back up tank, rocked the scene. A firefighter, covered in protective gear, was thrown backwards and slammed against the warped metal of a car a few feet away. Someone screamed and another firefighter ran towards the fallen man. "Reece!" Paramedics moved, but even from a distance, Grissom could tell from the position of the man's head, that the powerful blow had snapped the man's neck.

Behind them, he could hear paramedics throwing in the towel on some poor lost soul. "Give it up, Viv, the woman's gone." A lighter voice cursed and snorted back a sob, "Fuck."

Even now, the press pushed up against the police barriers trying to get a morbid picture of the destruction.

He gripped his kit and waited.

* * *

Nick remembered his days with the Volunteer Fire Department while he'd been in college. His Frat Buddies hadn't understood why he did it, but this was why. He'd wanted to help people when they most needed it.

* * *

Catherine wanted to throw up. This was Hell, people screaming, the smell of blood and burnt flesh and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

* * *

Greg focused with everything he was. He would not throw up. The horrors before him wreaked havoc with his mind and gut. So much death and he had to wait till everyone was done dying to do anything.

* * *

Warrick remembered the wreck, the Barstow Bus thing. That had been a cluster fuck…but this, this was almost incomprehensible. His eyes saw it, but his soul couldn't believe it.

* * *

Sara stood there, frozen; she remembered the smells and the sounds. Fear trickled down her spine. It was a cruel twist of fate; the universe was tugging on her chain. Her first night back and she had the case from Hell. From across the field of innocent casualties, she caught Sofia's eyes. The other woman's steady blue gaze was a balm to her soul and she squared her shoulders. She would get through this. More importantly, she would work the case and she would solve it. She would bring sense to this tragedy, that much she vowed. 


	4. Chapter III: Ashes to Ashes

_Chapter III_

_Ashes to Ashes_

The scene was vast. The accounts were varied. Time was of the essence. Vegas and the rest of the world demanded answers. Sara and Grissom went to the heart of the scene, the burnt out shell of the bus. The smell of charred flesh was thick in the air and the scene before them appeared to be ripped from the pits of Tartarus itself. Bodies and burnt corpses were thrown around like discarded dolls. Fingers were twisted, reaching for help. Mouths were open, silently screaming in unbearable pain. Water, from where the fire fighters had extinguished the blaze, dripped and pooled everywhere. The puddles were black with ash.

Her voice was shaking, but she spoke, "I count eight bodies here. Driver and seven passengers." She took a deep breath to steady herself then lifted her camera to begin taking pictures. Grissom quietly laid out yellow evidence markers to record the placement of anything and everything that could possibly explain what had happened.

Sara frowned, "Burn Pattern indicates that the explosion originated somewhere around here. She was standing in the middle of the charred bus. She frowned at the floor, which was mostly gone. "I hope Nick and Greg find that 'mystery car', because otherwise…" She moved her flashlight around, "Otherwise I think we're looking at a bomb."

* * *

Catherine studied the layout of the scene before she sketched it onto her paper. She had to be very careful to do everything to scale and include everything; anything could be a clue right now. The day shift guys had been called in and there were more detectives here then at a Sherlock Holmes Convention. Victims and bystanders were being tended to, and kept out of the way. Catherine could see the hordes of press at the crime scene tape, trying to get a glimpse of gore for the evening edition. She ignored them. Her eyes stole over to the bus. From her place, yards away from it, she could see two figures moving around inside. Grissom was keeping Sara right at his side, and she didn't blame him. Nick and Greg were examining the building and under the bus, looking for a possible car that may have hit the bus. The debris and destruction was more then capable of covering up a car, so they searched. Warrick and the cadets were combing over every centimeter of the scene, flagging everything. 

She could Brass working through the bystanders, taking statements from all and comforting those who needed it. She knew that the Sheriff, Mayor and Ecklie were around somewhere as well. She smirked. If the Press caught sight of Sara, she could guarantee that the 'Three Stooges' wouldn't make it out unscathed.

* * *

Doctor Al Robbins was on the scene, wading through the chaos to get to the bodies. He and David were swamped with casualties. The Rescue teams were still pulling victims out of the destroyed building front, and they hadn't even been cleared to step foot in the bus itself yet.

* * *

Maria Rymer straightened her hair, "Are we ready?" Her crew supervisor nodded and signaled the camera man. She got a slow finger-count down and then looked at the camera. She went through the report in a somber, reverent way, making sure to note the death of a heroic rescue worker and the fact that teams were still searching for survivors. 

_"The question on everyone's mind at this hour, has our fair city of Las Vegas fallen victim to Terrorism? The Sheriff will be giving a press conference at 9 AM tomorrow morning and Channel 5 will be there to get the answers."_

* * *

Sofia was making her way 'round, checking on how everything was progressing. Despite warnings, Grissom and Sara were in the bus, trying to get evidence before the building the bus had buried itself in collapsed on it. A twist of fear made itself known in her gut, but Sofia pushed it away. She couldn't give into her insane impulses to shield Sara from every slightly dangerous situation that arose. Sara was, as she'd reminded Sofia multiple times, a trained investigator and a member of law enforcement. That didn't get rid of the fear; it just kept Sofia from giving into it. Well, that and the fact that her couch was very uncomfortable. 

She was shaken from her worried musings by someone yelling her name. She whirled around ready to fight –or protect- but there was no danger. John "Johno" Stein, Captain of the Clark County Search and Rescue Team was grinning at her. "Get your thumb outta your ass and grab a hard hat, Curtis." She nodded and quickly found herself in possession of a hard hat and a bright orange flak jacket with 'SEARCH AND RESCUE' in bold black letters on back. During her stay in Boulder City, she'd taken the grueling month-long S.A.R training course under Stein and his guys. They were a specialized task force made up of officers and rescue personnel from every part of the county. She was one of the few females who'd completed the training. The other women on the scene, Janice Yanson and Marta Diaz, were running dogs and being treated for burns respectively.

Sofia wrapped her long blonde hair up into a makeshift bun and pulled the white hard hat on over it. "Marta going to be okay?" Stein, a thick, barrel-chested Ex-Marine, nodded. "Yeah, there was a pocket we didn't know about, she caught most of the burn on her back." He shook his head, "But Jan can't go into the building." Sofia raised an eyebrow, "Jan-Better-Than-A-Man Yanson can't go in the building?" Stein smirked, "She's got a baby on board and I aint sending her in. With Green out with a broken leg and Pendelton on loan to the LAPD, you're the last one I got." Sofia understood what he was saying. As great as the bulky guys of the SAR team were, there were some places they just couldn't squeeze into. "You want me to go in?"

She looked at the building. The entire front was a loss; the bus had demolished the giant windows. The rest of the building was teetering on the brink of destruction. "Just an in-and-out, we have to make sure no one else is in there before we call it." Sofia nodded and popped her knuckles. "Let's go, then." He nodded and handed her a radio headset. After making sure everything was hooked up, she headed towards the building.

She maneuvered around the bus, she could still hear Grissom and Sara inside, and through the viscous jagged teeth of glass and scorched brick. She took shallow breaths, the deeper she went into the building, the less stable it would become. She hit the search light that was attached to her helmet. The beam of white light illuminated the damage on the inside. It was a twisted mess of concrete, brick and steel. Dust and ash floated in the air and Sofia resisted the urge to cough. She moved around slowly, careful not to touch any debris that she didn't have to. The last thing she wanted was a mini-collapse while she was in the building. She moved through the wreck of the building carefully. All three levels were jumbled together from where floors and ceilings had collapsed. Thin shafts of weak light from outside filtered into the wreck, giving the ruins a shadowy look to them. Sofia ducked into what must have been another room and looked around. "ANYONE HERE?" She heard something, a ghost of a sound, a shuffling or a snuffling, she heard something.

"Is someone there?" She heard it again, but this time she knew exactly what it was. A tiny voice crying out, "Mommy!" Her radio crackled, "Curtis, get that fine ass of yours out of there, NOW! That building is about to go!" She grabbed her radio and hit the button, "I've found someone, a kid I think." She heard something behind her crumble and fall, sending more dust and ash into the air. She coughed and spat to clear her mouth and throat. She heard orders being barked at her through her radio, but she ignored them. She had to find the survivor.

"My name is Sofia and I'm here to help, but I need you to help me, okay?"

There was a little gasp, "It hurts." Fuck.

"Can you tell me your name?"

The little voice, which was further up and to her left, sounded again. "Nicki."

Sofia squeezed herself between a half-standing wall and a support beam. "Nicki, huh, I have a friend named Nicky too. He's a very brave guy. Can you be brave for me too, Nicki?" She listened, afraid that the kid had passed out or worse, died on her.

"I can't find my Mommy."

Sofia was getting closer. She bit back a curse when she sliced her hand open on something sharp. "I'll help you look for her, Nicki, now I need you to tell me something. What do you see around you?" There was a little sob. "It's all dark and there's something on my legs. It hurts." The kid started crying again. Sofia heard more debris falling around her, she didn't need the voice on the radio to tell her the building was coming down, she could tell. The whole structure was about to fall on her head. She carefully moved further along in the direction she was pretty sure the voice was coming from. She squinted in the dusty dark. "Nicki, can you hear me?" This time the voice was very close, "Uh-huh." Sofia looked at the chunk of wall just in front of her. It was leaning against some kind of collapsed cubby-hole. She was in what used to be some kind of kid's play room. She bent down and peered inside, her lamp revealed a small Nike cross-trainer. "Nicki, can you see a light?" The foot didn't move, but she could hear the voice right beside her. "Is that you?" Sofia smiled, "That's me. Now I'm going to put my hand through that little gap and see where you are, okay?" She didn't want to scare the kid into jumping or squirming. It could hurt her, she was close enough to tell it was a girl now, or worse, bring more debris crashing down on them. She eased her hand in, trying to feel out the situation. There was a beam of some kind on top of the girl's legs, but before she could move that, the section of wall covering the girl would have to go. Sofia kept up a continuous stream of reassurances as she inspected the tiny area they were in. The piece of wall wasn't holding up the "ceiling" above them, so she should be able to move it without compromising their position, but the bit of wall had to weigh at least two-hundred and fifty pounds. More mortar dust and ash fell into her face and a piece of plaster hit her shoulder hard. She didn't have time to wait for the guys to secure a path. She was going to get to play Wonder Woman all by herself.

She braced her legs and started talking to Nicki again. "All right, Nicki, I'm going to get you out of there. I need you to put your arms and hands over your head and face. Can you do that for me?" The girl said she could. "Good. Now, some things might fall on you, but don't move, okay?" When she got the girl's 'Okay' she steadied herself and then started to pull the wall away. She could feel the muscles in her arm contract and bunch with effort. She threw her head back and pulled with her back and shoulders. She felt the painful burn of muscles over-working, but she also felt the wall moving. She grunted with the effort and sweat poured down her body. She could feel the blood oozing out of her hands where the rough concrete cut into them. She could hear the sounds of the unsteady building creaking and groaning around her. She could hear more pieces collapse and the air was becoming so thick with dust that it was almost impossible to breathe.

There was a panicked voice over the radio. "Curtis, you alive in there? We've lost a good three hundred feet. You've lost your exit." Her breathing was ragged and her voice was rough, "Then get me a new one or dig the old one out. I've got a little girl here, injured but awake and aware." Her statement was cut off by a thunderous crash from somewhere in the building and curses over the radio. A piece of ceiling hit her shoulder –the same one- and she winced and grit her teeth. She was running out of time.


	5. Chapter IV: Collapse

_Chapter IV_

_Collapse_

David and Sara were maneuvering the driver out of the seat. Grissom and Doc Robbins were working on the last of the passengers. The bodies were fragile and difficult to handle. Sweat poured down their faces and they coughed constantly because the air was full of ash. They could hear the building that had been struck by the bus groaning around them and there were constant pings and thuds of pieces of brick and steel hitting the roof of the bus.

David wrinkled his nose, "I hate the smell of crispy critters." It wasn't a disrespectful remark; they all did it. If you remembered that the body you were staring at had been a person with a life and a family…well it was much easier to call them crispy critters. They were angling for a new position when Sara saw it out of the corner of her eye, or maybe she sensed instead of saw it. Whether it had been by sight, or Spidey-Senses, she moved. She tackled David like a 49er linebacker would sack a Cowboy quarter back. They skid across the floor but before Super Dave could protest, a chunk of wall crashed through the bus, destroying it. A brick hit Sara's ankle and the quick movement had sent a hot lance of pain through her scarred back. They'd cleared the disaster by less then three feet. Sara looked up to see that she had not been the only one to move, Grissom had pushed Doc behind the seat.

A SAR officer came to the entrance. "All right, everyone get the hell out of here!" Grissom opened his mouth to protest, but looked back at Sara and Dave on the floor, mere inches from death. "You heard the man." Sara got up on her elbows, which were skinned and bleeding. "We've still got victims to get out of here, Griss. Evidence to process." That didn't seem to impress the Search and Rescue guy. "Look I've already got one officer in that mess and I am not putting more in danger. Out. Now. You walk out or my guys carry you out. Take your pick."

They were met outside by raised voices. "WHAT GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO SEND ONE OF MY DETECTIVES INTO THAT WRECK!" Captain Jim Brass, flanked by Catherine on one side and Nick on the other was tearing into another Search and Rescue officer. "I want to talk to your captain, now!" The man who'd got them out of the bus stalked over to the scene, "What the HELL is going on here!" Brass, his usually neatly kept suit in ruins and his hound dog face cherry-tomato red, rounded on the Captain. "Can you explain to me why one of MY Detectives is in that mess, Stein?" The man folded his arms over his chest. "Sofia Curtis did the training, she's qualified and I needed her in there. She's bringing out a kid."

It became immediately obvious that Brass hadn't known which detective had gone in, because all the red drained out of his face. "You sent Sofie in there?" Panic now underlined anger. "You sent a woman in there, that fucking building is about to go and you sent Curtis in!" Suddenly, it dawned on Jim just who was standing there. He whipped his head around.

Sara stood perfectly still, her big brown eyes locked on the crumbling building. Her voice was barley a whisper, a whisper ripe with fear and horror. "Sofia."

* * *

A chunk of debris from the ceiling whacked Sofia on the head, actually cracking her helmet. She shook the impact off and put the final effort into pulling the wall away. Her radio crackled to life once more. "Talk to me, Curtis!" 

With the wall finally off of her, Sofia got her first look at Nicki. The girl, who was no more then six, was covered with ash and looked terrified. Other than her obviously broken legs, though, she seemed to be fine. "Yes sir, I've got the girl and I'm coming out." There was a pause. "I hope you get out of there alive, Curtis, because there's a line of people up here waiting to kill you." She eased the support beam off Nicki's legs and smiled at her. "Hey there, we really need to get out of here." The little girl nodded and held out her arms. Sofia eased closer and picked the girl up. She wasn't quite sure how she was going to get them out. She'd not been able to stand up totally straight since she'd entered the building.

The worked together as well as they could. Sofia kept a constant stream of reassurances flowing to keep the girl calm. Somewhere, deep in her mind, she realized that she was probably feeling very much like Sara had when she'd found Lindsey. She wiped the sweat from her eyes and flinched when a twisted piece of rebar cut through her pants and into her leg. She bit back her yelp and moved away from it, trying to get to some kind of exit. There were more shafts of light now, but every step she took was unsteady. She was teetering on the brink of collapse. Nicki, for her part, clung to Sofia, her little arms wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were scrunched shut and she was whispering a prayer. Sofia radioed her approximate position and she could hear people coming her way.

* * *

It was, Sara decided, the longest twenty minutes of her entire life. When Sofia finally emerged from the rubble, filthy, bruised and bleeding, with a child in her arms, the press found an image to pin to the tragedy and Sara found her ability to breathe again.

* * *

Paramedics rushed towards them and as soon as Nicki was out of her arms, Sofia felt her adrenaline begin to crash and the aches and pains from the scrapes, cuts and pulled muscles began to pound into her. She was glad Sawyer and Rush were by her side to support her. She waved away the tired paramedics; they'd already dealt with enough today and started looking for a convenient place to collapse. She didn't even flinch when she heard the building behind her crumble onto itself in a chaotic crash. She peeled off her jacket and eased off her ruined helmet. She stood for a minute, watching the EMTs put Nicki onto a stretcher. She wondered if she should go with the girl, but when a woman ran over to the EMTs, sobbing, Sofia supposed she was off the hook. 

"Don't you ever do that again, Sofia Diane Curtis." Sofia turned to see a sooty, sweaty Sara Sidle staring at her. She found the energy to grin in what could be considered a mischievous fashion before she all but collapsed in Sara's open arms.

Author's Note: Wow, alot of people were highly concerned, to put it mildly, for Sofia. I honestly didn't expect that big of a reaction from everyone. Don't get too comfy, though, there's more to come.


	6. Chapter V: Pressure

_Chapter V_

_Pressure_

The crime lab was in bedlam, day and nightshift were both there, techs and CSIs were bumping into each other as they fought for the space that they weren't used to sharing. They were all too busy, and too shaken to fight, but it was uncomfortable to say the least.

Sara scowled at a Day Shift Newbie. Joel Dawes looked about twelve years old and refused to get out of their way. She, Warrick and Catherine were laying out the scene in the conference room. Pinning up layouts and sketches and ordering pictures. The boy kept messing with their system. Sara ground her molars together, if she heard 'Well Conrad says…" one more time, there would be a whole new crime to investigate.

* * *

Not that the PD had it any easier. The phone lines were overrun with people demanding to know where their loved ones were and terrified citizens demanding to know if Terrorists were swooping down on the city. People wanted answers that they just didn't have yet. Jim Brass waded through the insanity like a pro, barking orders and pitching in when and where he could. After a long shower and a handful of Advil, Sofia found herself sucked into the storm. 

She slammed the phone down hard in the cradle. "Okay, that's another vote for Aliens did it." Vega groaned, "Add Communists to the list, and oh, the Illuminati, whoever the hell they are." Of course, the most popular option was still Terrorists.

The Sheriff stormed into the room. "It's all over CNN, twelve Terrorist Cells have already claimed responsibility." Brass held up a pile of papers, "Gangs just chimed in, four local gangs, two of which are at war right now, have been reported as suspects." Sofia sighed, "Not to mention we've had about three-hundred crazies phone in claiming that everyone from Elvis to ET did it."

The Sheriff sighed, "Has anyone heard anything from Ecklie or Grissom?"

Brass ran his hand over his already ragged face. "They've got every crim on deck over there, Sheriff. It's going as fast as it's going to go right now." The Sheriff groaned. "Great I've got the Press hounding me for a statement and all we've got is "We're going as fucking fast as we can!" He kicked someone's trash can. "I want a fucking report on my desk in two hours or I will bust every one of your asses back to meter-maids!" He was half out the door when he paused, "Oh and Curtis, you looked real pretty on TV tonight, so I'm sure you'll enjoy giving a full report at the conference tomorrow morning." He slammed the door behind him as he went so he didn't hear Sofia's vehement curse.

* * *

Wendy fought for space with the day tech, Michael "Call me M" Toliver. Usually she got along with him just fine. Of course, she usually saw the man for all of five minutes as they changed shifts. They were running samples from each of the body they'd recovered from the scene. There could be no mistakes on this, they ran double specimens and extra safeties, double checking everything before they put it in the report. 

He kept wanting to talk to her. Could he not see that this was not the time for small talk? They were up to their eyeballs in work, they were working against the clock, and not to mention that there was still a backlog of work to tackle besides this case. She had her own laptop, and one of Archie's, plugged into the system so she could run additional searches through CODIS. She was in the zone, going between computers and microscopes, checking and rechecking print outs. Toliver just leaned against the counter waiting for his one result. "You've got to calm down, Wendy; the results will come through when they come through. I mean we don't even have most of the comparison samples in yet." She sent him an annoyed glare. He moved closer, his hands poised to rub her shoulders. She rounded on him. "Touch me and you'll come back with bloody stumps, Toliver." He backed off. "You know I feel like coffee. That sound good to you?" She frowned at him, "No open cups in _my_ lab." He rubbed at the back of his neck, "Gotcha, well, I'll be back." She turned away from him and glared at her screen. Yeah he'd be back, "Unfortunately."

* * *

Nick and Archie were holed up in the AV lab, running the simulations again and again. Nick frowned at the screen. "The bus wasn't going that fast, I still don't see how it destroyed that building." Archie shrugged, "A bus is bigger than a car and that building was not made to get plowed like that. If you check, the building was probably out of code anyway." He turned around and clicked a few keys, "We did get a video, though, a bank across the street had a security camera pointed that way." He cued up the correct sequence. "Here you can see the bus pull to a stop and a few seconds later, the light turns green and he makes the turn." They sat in silence as the tape played through, showing the explosion and devastation. Nick ran his hands over his newly shorn head and let out a puff of breath. "All right, then."

* * *

With the other ME, Dr Evan Phillips, on vacation, Doc Robbins had no back up. He was fervently wishing for some, though. The six bodies that had been recovered from the bus, ten street casualties, ten building casualties, the fire fighter that had been caught in the secondary blast, and he was told that they hadn't found everyone yet. He wiped his brow and stripped off his scrubs, only to pull on another set. He hadn't seen this much carnage in a very long time.

* * *

Greg was going through all the victim clothes and belongings. Sorting through the belonging of dead people was one of the creepier parts of his job, that was for sure. He heard Ecklie at the door of the drying room, but made it a point to not acknowledge the man. If Ecklie had been unpopular with the Graveyard shift before, he'd become a leper since he'd all but fired Sara. When the man repeated his name, he finally turned. "Yeah?" The balding lab director glared at him. "What are you doing in here, Sanders?" Greg, in a great act of restraint, bit back his sarcastic remark. "Grissom wanted me to go through their clothes." Ecklie scowled, "Well last time I checked, I outrank Grissom so I need you to go to the garage, they're bringing the bus in." Greg shrugged, "All right, but shouldn't Sara be working on the bus, cars are kinda her deal." Ecklie, whose suit was still perfect, crossed his arms. "Sidle is busy, just do it, Sanders." Ecklie's voice betrayed his true feelings and for a moment Greg felt just a little bit sorry for him. Conrad Ecklie was under some serious pressure. 

"Now Sanders. The county doesn't pay you to sit on your ass and be Sidle's cheerleader." Greg controlled his face, keeping it poker straight. It was something he'd picked up from Grissom, he supposed. "Yeah." He started to rebag the clothes. He didn't care how much pressure Ecklie was under, an ass hole was still an ass hole.


	7. Chapter VI: A Meeting of Minds

_Chapter VI_

_A Meeting of Minds_

"Ugh." Brass stared at them, "How can you eat Chinese at" he checked his watch, "3 AM?" Greg looked up, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, "Weakling." Jim only shook his head, "I think I'll stick to coffee, thanks." Sara, who had just arrived, handed him a paper bag. "Nick forgot to order mine sans meat, again, so I was at the deli on my way." She sent the Texan a glare and he smiled, "Meat is good for you, Sunshine." The mood of the gathering was oddly cheerful, as if they weren't going over a disaster that had stolen lives and left a gaping infected sore in the heart of Vegas. They all sat down and there was a moment of passing around files and notes. Grissom was at the head of the table, with Brass at the foot. Catherine was on Grissom's right with Warrick on his left, Nick and Greg came next and the table rounded out with Sara beside Greg and across from Sofia, who sat on Brass's right. Catherine swallowed her mouthful and cleared her throat. "First off the bat, Curtis gets a big shiny merit badge for risking life and limb for a little girl." Nick, who was closest to Sofia, clapped her on the back. "Nice one."

Sofia winced at the impact of Nick's congratulations and blushed at Sara's approving grin. "Does this shiny badge come with a dose of morphine?" If one forgot the case, and how could one do that, it was almost nice. Sofia sighed, stretched and winced at the movement, "Because being a hero hurts like Hell." Greg snorted into his cardboard carton, "Sara could have told you that." He got a fortune cookie thrown at him. That was, apparently, the end of Grissom's patience. "All right, let's get down to business here, please."

They all sighed and turned to the board that had the entire lay out of the scene on it, complete with pictures. Grissom started.

"Bus twenty-seven exploded at approximately 8 PM." Nick held up a finger, "Seven fifty-five and three-quarters, Archie and I pulled a tape from a nearby bank." Grissom nodded, "You've got the tape." Nick nodded, I've got it cued up to play on the TV." He pointed to where he'd rigged his laptop to feed into the television. The man did not look like he was thrilled to be the one presenting the video.

Grissom nodded again, "There were eight bodies on the bus, we recovered six before we had to abandon the bus." Greg looked up, "Bus was dug out and towed to the garage, Super Dave and I got the other two down to Doc an hour ago." The young CSI half-heartedly covered up his shudder. "Arson and Bomb guys are down with the bus now, they said they'd have their reports in by five." Grissom raised a brow. "What about the clothes I asked you to go through, Greg?" Greg shoved his free hand through his limp hair, "Ecklie pulled rank and _ordered_ me to the garage." There was a round of grunts, groans and half-whispered oaths all around the table. Grissom only nodded, "All right, but the clothes, Greg, it could be important." The CSI I nodded and they continued.

Catherine and Warrick tag teamed the explanation of the scene. They had the assorted reports of the other CSIs and there would be a larger meeting with Ecklie at the big-boy seat later, but for now it was just the Graveyard shift and the Detectives. It was, in short, exactly how everyone liked it.

Brass sighed, "Well, while Sofie was playing hero," He smiled at the other detective, showing her that despite his words he was proud of her, "I talked to just about everyone there. No one saw anything, no one knows anything. One guy pissed himself when it happened, that's all I got."

Sara ran her fingers through her dark hair, "Wendy and the Days Tech are running everything right now. The bus company is cooperating fully, there is a camera on every bus that takes a shot of every passenger when they pay their fee. The camera stores the pictures to a remote server at the Transportation Bureau HQ for twenty four hours. They're going to hand over everything to us as soon as they download it."

Everyone looked at Sofia, the only one who hadn't spoken as of yet. "Sheriff is throwing me in front of the press tomorrow morning." She rubbed at the tension in her forehead. "Frankly I feel like crap and would rather go back into that building then talk to the press, but I've got to say something. Anything at this point would do. Because right now all I've got is some crack-pot's theory on the Illuminati working through Scooby Doo or some God-Awful insanity like that." She scraped at the bottom of her Lo-Mein, "Who wants to bet that damn redhead will be shoving a microphone in my face as soon as I walk out there?" Hands all over the table went up. Warrick grinned, "Better you then us there, Curtis." Sofia rolled her eyes. "My worry, though, is that by the time we get half a hand hold on this case, the Feds will take it over." Brass nodded, "Homeland Security is probably watching this like a hawk." Nick grunted something that might have been "Probably". Grissom scowled, "I would like to keep this in-house as long as possible." Brass shook his head, "Translation, he's still sore over the Strip Strangler thing."

Grissom's face was impassive, but it seemed to them that there was something more there. More than resentment for a case that had happened years ago. There was something personal flickering in his gray eyes.

Ponderings, musings and questions about Grissom's emotional state would have to wait, though, they had a tape to watch, a theory to tack together and in Sofia's case, a statement to prepare.

Author's Note: Oooh look, foreshadowing. Ooh look, I actually retained something from all those years of High School English. Three chapters today, it's Thursday and I'm in a good mood.


	8. Chapter VII: Media Circus

_Chapter VII_

_Media Circus_

The television in the lounge was tuned to Channel 5, it was almost time for the press conference and everyone stood there, waiting to see what, if anything was going to be said.

"_This is Maria Rymer with Channel 5 News, bringing Vegas the news it needs now." The woman's red hair was perfectly coiffed and over her shoulder the still empty stage with podium on the front steps of the PD could be seen. "Just thirteen hours ago, our fair was rocked to it's foundation when a bus exploded just one street over from the Strip. Fear and horror have mixed into a dangerous cocktail as gun stores had an overnight boom. We all want to know what the Sheriff and Mayor, both up for re-election this term, are going to do to keep us safe." The angle changed ever so slightly and Maria tilted her head in what was almost an arrogant movement. "Or will we as citizens once again take backseat to pride and power?"_

_A murmur went through the crowd and the camera panned over to catch the Sheriff, Detective Sofia Curtis and the Mayor come out of the building. The Mayor and Sheriff looked impeccable in a suit and dress uniform respectively; they were the epitome of leadership. Sofia Curtis was less so. The Detective moved stiffly, a testament to her efforts the day before, and her eyes were dim with barely concealed dark circles around them. She had changed, though, into a severely tailored power suit. Her blonde hair stirred in the morning breeze._

_The Mayor took the podium first, expressing his concern and heartfelt sympathy for all of those who'd lost someone in the tragedy of the day before. He quickly handed things over to the Sheriff who, after a few words, introduced Sofia Curtis as the Lead Detective on the case._

_Sofia took the podium and cleared her throat. "The LVPD and Las Vegas Crime Lab are not pulling any punches on this case. From the time of the tragedy and even now, we are hard at work identifying victims and tracking down the culprits." She paused and the assorted members of the Associated Press started shouting questions._

"_Is it true that several Terrorist organizations have claimed to be behind this attack!"_

"_How is the little girl you pulled from the building holding up!"_

"_Will there be further attacks!"_

"_Do you have any solid leads!"_

"_Is it true the that the Las Vegas Islamic League is behind this attack!"_

_Sofia held up a hand, "Reports about Terrorist involvement and attacks are all very preliminary and the LVPD will not jump the gun and point fingers this early in the investigation." She took a breath, "We will give out confirmed information on leads and suspects as we get them and not until. The Las Vegas Police and Forensics Departments will not tolerate a Witch Hunt. That's all for now." She stepped away from the podium, but the questions kept coming._

"_Has the LVPD considered Eco-Terrorism!"_

"_Is it true that the LVIL leaders are in custody!"_

_The screen flashed back to the in-studio anchor for a rehash of the entire scene._

* * *

Sofia worked her way towards her car, the Bomb Squad and Arson guys were going to give their report in an hour, of course they had said they'd be ready three and half hours ago. She unlocked the alarm and was about to get into her car when she looked up and saw an annoyingly familiar redhead coming her way. 

"Detective Curtis!"

Sofia clenched her hands, one of which was still wrapped in gauze, into fists. "What?" The woman caught up to her, "Maria Rymer, Channel 5." Sofia sighed and ran her hand through her blonde hair, "I know who you are." That short and gruff comment made the reporter preen just a bit. "Well, then, seeing as you do, I was wondering if you'd answer a few questions for me." Sofia swung one leg into her car. "I don't think so." Maria cocked her head to the side, "What did your girlfriend think about you rushing into that building? Miss Sidle didn't seem all that happy." The comments would have felled another, weaker woman, but Sofia liked to think she was made of something harder then most people. "I don't see how that's any of your business." Rymer smiled and leaned against the open door. "I've kept an eye out, this is Sara's first case back isn't it?" Sofia's body language changed abruptly from uninterested to angry. "You stay away from Sara." The reporter smiled, "That's up to you, Detective. I like to think of myself as a sort of liaison between the police and CSI unit and the people. I've followed your careers you know. I was the first to report on the shooting of Officer Bell, the kidnapping of Warrick Brown and the Madison Daniels case. You could say I'm a fan of the work you do." Sofia nodded, and read between the lines of what the woman was saying. "You want an exclusive." The redhead nodded, "Yes. An interview, I think. With yourself and CSI Sidle, at your convenience, of course." Sofia scowled and sat in the driver's seat. "Fine."

She put her keys in the ignition and Maria leaned over the still-open door. She dropped a thick file into Sofia's lap. "Madison Daniels did her homework, it was pretty easy to follow in her footsteps." She smiled at the folder, "Just how well do you know your girlfriend, Detective?" She pulled a glossy 8x10 out, "You look good together, it'd be a nice human interest story, the squeaky clean detective and the CSI from the wrong side of the tracks."

The picture fluttered down to Sofia's lap. It had been taken earlier at the scene, it was of her holding on to Sara for dear life and Sara kissing her forehead. "Damn."

She drove away, back to the labs, with the picture on the passenger seat. It wasn't as though she and Sara had something to hide. Everyone knew about their relationship, it was old news…but there was a difference between people knowing and it being reduced to some 'dyke fling' that could smear their careers and the LVPD at large. She glanced at the file the woman had given her. She knew that Sara had secrets, pieces of her past that she hadn't shared with her. They were sitting right there, and Sofia's hand fell to the black cover. Curiosity raged through her. She had waited for the day that Sara would feel close enough, safe enough, to tell her about the demons that gave her nightmares. She snatched her traitorous hand away from the file as if it had been burnt. She would keep waiting.

Sofia sighed, "What else can go wrong?"

Much later she would kick herself for tempting fate.

Author's Note: Maria Rymer returns and is ballsier then ever.


	9. Chapter VIII: Fifty Minuites

Spoiler Warning: Slight spoiler for episode 07x02, _Built to Kill Part II_. I don't think it will REALLY spoil anyone, but if you're worried about it, you may skip this chapter and go to the next, though you will not pass 'Go' and will not collect two-hundred dollars...and you'll miss a great scene with everyone's favorite psychologist.

_Chapter VIII_

_Fifty Minutes_

"So I punched him in the face and then I did it again and again and again. It felt good, it felt right." The moody teenager scowled, "I know it's wrong, but he had it coming." He stood up and wandered the room. "I mean I was defending myself, right?" The confidence suddenly turned to uneasiness.

"Ben, there is a line between defending yourself and assault. The boy you attacked had to go to the emergency room." Dr. Cambridge Parker walked over to where he stood, in front of the window. She put a hand on his shoulder, "You were lucky you weren't expelled." The boy jerked away from her, "I _know_ that. My father has told me that, my mother has told me that. The principal told me that. What no one gets is that he had it coming. He walks around that school like he _owns_ it. Calls the guys he doesn't like fags and the girls who won't put out to him dykes and the girls who do put out as whores. Someone had to stand up to him. I finally did and instead of congratulations, I'm suspended for a month." He tore at the private school tie he'd been wearing. "I'm the bad kid. He comes to class high and smashed, threatens people, trashes other people's cars and his Daddy makes it all go away. I stand up for myself and I'm a threat. He's the one who needs fucking therapy, not me!"

Cami shook her head, "I don't doubt he needs therapy" and she silently added, an ass-kicking wake up call. "But _you're_ here and I think we should work together on your anger problem." Despite her careful phrasing, Ben Winston exploded and shoved her out of his way. "Fuck you, Doc. I'm out of here." She let him leave, he'd only had five minutes left in his session anyway.

Suddenly weary, she retreated to her desk. She stopped the recorder she used for all of her sessions and scrawled a few notes in short hand. She'd type everything up later. She took the five minutes of unexpected time and slid out of her high heels. Children were always much more taxing on her than adults. With adults it was usually all repair work, trying to help them go back and figure out the root of their problems and help work through them. With younger patients, she was trying to stop the problems before they fully set in. She could make all the difference in the world to a child. There was a power in that, and a great amount of responsibility. It was that heavy weight that kept most psychologists out of the realm of children. She pushed her fingers through her short black hair and fought back the headache that was coming on. She hadn't made any progress with Ben, not this time, but she still had hope.

It was that glimmer of hope that her putting her shoes back on and getting ready for her next, and last, appointment of the day. She retrieved the file that her assistant and receptionist, Karen, had laid out for her. She didn't miss Seattle's rain, she didn't miss her family constantly interfering in her life, she didn't miss her partners from the old practice. She missed Gideon, her old receptionist. Karen was efficient and good at her job, but she lacked pizzazz. Of course, pizzazz wasn't a requirement for the job. She still missed it though.

She didn't bother to open the file before her. She didn't need to. The case was a very familiar one and the patient was a favorite of hers. She looked at one of the discrete pictures on her desk. It was from Sara's last birthday; the Wild Woman had turned thirty-five a few weeks before. The snapshot was of herself, Greg Sanders and Lindsey Willows throwing a struggling Sara off the dock and into Lake Mead. That had been a good day, and not just because she'd gotten to see a certain DNA technician in a bikini, though that was not be discounted. Before her thoughts could wander too far, her intercom buzzed. Karen's rather monotone voice announced that her patient had arrived. "Send her on in."

Lindsey Willows bounded into the room and unceremoniously dumped her book bag on the floor by one of the couches. "Hey Cami!" She couldn't help but smile. If Ben was a problem patient, Lindsey was a good example of how therapy could help someone. She had, in typical teenage fashion, swung from her all-black hard rock mood to a perkier, more bubbly stage. Something Cami knew her mother was very thankful for. "How was school?" The girl slumped into the chair closest to the desk, "Meh. It was okay, everyone is pretty shaken up from that bus thing. Some people skipped because they were afraid that a bomb was going to be at school. I tried that too, Mom didn't go for it." Cami smirked, "Did you think she would?" Lindsey rolled her eyes, "Hey, it was totally worth a shot." Their casualness bordered just on the line of unprofessional, but it eventually slid into more of a patient-doctor feeling. "I had a nightmare last night." Cami frowned, she'd hoped they'd gotten over that little problem. Lindsey had been having vivid night terrors at least twice a week for the three months since her kidnapping and escape. It was, though, a positive sign. Lindsey had a guilty conscience where most wouldn't. She saw Madison Daniels as a person, a person she had killed, and she regretted it. That, in Cami's eyes was a sign of a very strong character. It was one that she envied, because had she been the one to pull the trigger on Daniels, she wouldn't have blinked.

"The same dream?" Lindsey frowned and picked at a loose thread on her blue jeans. "No, actually, it was different." Cami pushed the button on the recorder, "Would you like to tell me?" The girl sighed, "I don't see why I have to have therapy. Sara told me that she has nightmares all the time." Cami frowned, when Lindsey didn't want to talk about something, she invariably changed the subject. "Lindsey, Sara is a grown woman who did take therapy." Lindsey scowled, "Not from you." Cami shook her head, "No. Doctors can't treat their family or their close friends, it's unethical." The girl crossed her arms and pouted, "So I'm not your friend."

The migraine was coming back, stronger then before. "Lindsey there is a difference between my friendship with you and my friendship with Sara." Cami had to bite her lip from grinning. 'When I pull you, half naked, off of a table after too many rounds of tequila, that's when it's unethical to be your psychologist. "The dream, Linds, let's talk about the dream."

The young blonde grumbled but relented. "Mom was picking me up from rehearsal and we were in a car wreck. Guys grabbed me out of the car and took me someplace. They ducktaped me to a chair and put tape over my mouth and eyes. Then after like hours and hours Mom and Warrick came and saved me." She shook her head, "What's that all mean?" Dream interpretation was not her expertise, but Cami was not without ideas on the matter. "I think you're still nervous, which is completely normal by the way, and you're creating new scenarios in your subconscious." Lindsey tossed her hands over her eyes. "Yea sub conscious!" Cami scoffed, "Well, I don't think that's anything to worry about. You didn't scream did you?" Lindsey shook her head, "Nah, but it was pretty freaky." Cami nodded and leaned back, "So Warrick was there, huh?" Lindsey nodded, "Yeah, he's been hanging around a lot lately." Cami took a drink of her water, "You and Warrick get along okay?" Lindsey shrugged, "He's all right, I guess." She went around and helped herself to a Diet Coke from Cami's mini-fridge. She popped the top and took a sip. "He's really tight, plus you know he's nice. Of course he hasn't gotten into my Mom's pants yet, so after that who knows."

Cami felt the unmistakable sensation of water going down her windpipe and up her nose in the same instant. She choked and coughed, and just when she thought she was okay, Lindsey followed up, "Which is pretty cool, I guess, because now you have a totally clear path to move in on Wendy." Unable to control herself, she laid her head on the desk, completely mortified. "Are you trying to kill me?" Lindsey snickered, "No, but I was wondering if you could take me to rehearsal today, Mom's still at work. I called Grandma and she okay-ed it already." Of course, Lindsey would have completely neglected to mention that Cami rode a Harley to work every day. Cami checked her watch, there were twenty minutes left in their session. "Well, what we could do is leave now and stop by the deli and take everyone at the lab something to eat on the way." Lindsey grinned, "On the bike?" Cami rolled her eyes, "Yes, on the bike." Lindsey grabbed her backpack, "Wicked." Since she did Lindsey's sessions gratis, she did not feel bad about cutting their time short. Besides, sometimes the best therapy wasn't found within the four elegently decorated walls of her office.

* * *

After a quick stop at the deli to secure sandwiches for the assorted CSIs and Lab techs, Cami pulled into the Crime Lab parking lot just shy of five thirty. She quickly picked out a number of vehicles she recognized. 

She cut the engine and looked at the door. Behind her, Lindsey took off her helmet, "Damn." Cami didn't even bother to correct the teen's language. In front of the doors were what had to be about a hundred angry people. Uniforms were holding back the people, trying to calm them down. The press was crowded around, rolling tape and shouting questions. Cami was about to say 'screw it' and start her bike again, but they caught sight of her. "Stay close to me, Linds." She pulled off her own helmet and got off the bike. She wore a heavy leather riding jacket and chaps over her crème business suit and boots had replaced her heels. She grabbed the deli bags they'd put in the saddlebags and scowled over at media. "Lets go."

The vultures swooped down on them almost immediately.

"Can you give us your name!"

"Are you helping the investigation!"

Cami's shouted, "No comment" and "Move" worked perfectly well until someone recognized Lindsey.

"Lindsey, over here!" Out of pure instinct, Lindsey turned just in time to get caught by a flash. Cami grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her way through the horde. "Out of my way, now!" By the time they got to the doors, she'd stomped on more then a few toes and delivered more then one elbow shot. She could hear more shouted questions through the now closed door. "Damn."

Author Note: Okay, so my Lindsey isn't exactly cannon, but she's fun.


	10. Chapter IX: Panic in the Streets

_Chapter IX_

_Panic in the Streets_

The overworked receptionist waved them back. Lindsey knew her way to the break room and went without stopping to look around at what she termed "CSI junk." Cami did stop to look, though. Each lab was bustling with activity; tired looking scientists were living on caffeine alone. She spotted Nick and Greg in one of the labs on the way and tapped on the glass. Both men looked up. She shoved the bag against the glass, logo towards the boys. She didn't think she'd ever seen the mellow Texan move that quickly in the months she'd known him.

"Oh Darlin', marry me, please." She rolled her eyes, "Not a chance, Cowboy." He pouted for about a second before he opened the bag. "Okay, don't marry me, we'll live in sin." He paused and looked her up and down, taking in the leather she had donned for the ride over. "Definitely in Sin." She smacked him on the shoulder. "Where's the Wild Woman at?" Greg had joined them and had his hand in the bag already, fishing for something. "Her and Griss are down in the garage, going over the bus." He looked at his watch, "They've been at it for at least four hours now." He scratched at his two day's growth of stubble. "Someone should call them or something." She snatched the bag away from the two men, "Yes, you should. Catherine too, I brought Lindsey with me. Get them now and I'll let you have some of the cake I bought." Greg grinned, "Cake?" She nodded, "Linds has it." Both men went off in search of the others.

* * *

The break room was more of a mess then usual. Cups lay everywhere and someone's sneaker had given it up and was lying under the table. Someone she didn't recognize was sprawled on the couch, half dead. A sign pinned to the young man's shirt threatened death if disturbed before six. 

Slowly, the CSIs and Techs of the nightshift - day shift was on it's way home - trickled in. They looked tired and scruffy. Cami offered them each a smile. "I thought you guys would be in need of a pick-me-up." Catherine, looked up from hugging Lindsey, and smiled, "We are in your debt, Parker." Then Catherine Willows's unusually dull blue eyes focused on the helmet still dangling from Cami's hand, and it's twin on the floor. "Please tell me you didn't ride your motorcycle here." Lindsey grinned, "Cool. We won't tell you." Catherine, obviously too tired to throttle Cami, collapsed on the non-occupied couch. "I'll kill you later." Sara looked up from her veggie burger, "We've got another shift to do and then we all get to go and crash for twelve glorious hours." A groan came from the others. Cami was pretty sure that even Grissom had looked relieved at the idea of a shift off. She boosted herself up on the counter. "Rough stuff, oh by the way, the press is outside. They didn't exactly catch my best side." Warrick looked up from his place on the couch beside Catherine, "Let Ecklie handle them."

Further comments about the press, Ecklie, the case or anything else were cut off when a livid brunette stalked over to the couch occupied by the sleeping man. "TOLIVER!" Wendy Simms knocked the man's feet down and he sat up, groggily. "Wha?" She glared at him. "You idiot! I asked you to do one thing. ONE. Watch the samples while I went to the store room for supplies." He held up his hands, "They're fine, I left them running." The harried brunette shoved slapped her hands on her hips. "A freshman in a entry level Chemistry course knows better then to leave a test like that. The samples denatured in the spinner, you moron. That's three hours of work you've set me back!" Her hands balled into fists. "Get the hell out of here before I really get pissed."

In the face of getting beaten up by a girl, Michael Toliver beat a hasty retreat. After he was gone, Wendy collapsed on the recently vacated couch. "I _hate_ him." She cracked open one eye. "I smell food." Greg threw one of the remaining sandwiches to her, "Cami and Linds brought chow." Wendy ripped though the wrapped and took a bite. She smiled as she chewed, when she swallowed she sat up. "Sorry about that." After another bite, she stretched, "Thanks." She looked over at Cami and stopped chewing for a minute. Her cheeks tinged pink at the sight of the Psychologist decked out in leather. "Thanks, Doc." Cami's slightly flirty 'Any time' was cut off by a weary Jim Brass's entrance. "Turn on Channel 5."

Cami winced, wondering if she'd be featured. When the television came on, she wished he had been the top story.

* * *

"_This is Maria Rymer with Chanel 5." The redhead reporter was beginning to show signs of fatigue, but her words were as crisp as ever. "In the wake of yesterday's tragedy, Vegas is balancing on the brink of chaos. Today our city slipped over the line. Just fifteen minutes ago, there was an attack." The camera panned out to show a North Las Vegas store. It was a national chain that was easily recognizable. "Just inside a young man and his sister were viciously attacked by a group of customers and, apparently, by a handful of employees." The camera panned around showing uniformed Sheriff's deputies and bewildered employees in easy-to-pick out vests. "Was the couple trying to rob the store or causing a problem that would warrant this savage attack? The camera showed a shot of two ambulances pulling away from the building. "Eyewitnesses say no, the only explanation that the attackers gave was that they were defending America. The victims, who have yet to be identified, are of Middle Eastern descent and the young woman was reportedly wearing a head scarf. The two are of the Islamic faith." Maria's face went hard. "This blatant hate crime has no excuse and has the Islamic Community in an uproar."_

Nick's blunt curse just about wrapped up the room's feelings on the new situation. Grissom rose. "Catherine, take Sara and Warrick to Desert Palms with you, get their clothes and statements, quickly. Nick and Greg, you're with me, we're going shopping." Despite their fatigue, the CSIs began to move. "I've already got Sofia on the way to the hospital" Brass announced, "I'm going with you guys."

Catherine gave her daughter a quick hug and smiled at Cami before she went. Sara gave a hug to both before she went, half finished sandwich in hand.

Lindsey sighed, "Well, at least the press won't be outside this time." Cambridge nodded, but kept her eyes on the screen, watching the reports. "Panic in the streets."

Author's Note: Three more chapters today. Don't get used to this, I have to sleep sometimes, ya know.


	11. Chapter X: Ten Items or Less

_Chapter X_

_Ten Items or Less_

Three vehicles came through the blocked off parking lot to the shopping center. Gilbert Grissom and Greg Sanders exited one, Nick Stokes the second and Captain Jim Brass the third. The parking lot was full of scared shoppers, worried workers and of course, the press. The bystanders stared at them, but the press moved in.

Brass pushed through first with a bulldog-like tenacity. "No comment." Grissom, Greg and Nick echoed the sentiment and tried to ignore the shouted questions. They shouldered their way to the doors, where someone had pulled a truck in front of them, blocking the entrance. Brass flashed his badge and a tall pewter haired man looked relieved. He wore a tie and a cheerful name badge, "Thank God you got here; we haven't touched anything." He led them through the eerily empty store. "I shut down the entire store as soon as it happened. The cops taped off the immediate area and have the attackers held in the main aisle over there.

Grissom nodded and looked around. Shopping carts full of groceries, clothes and other assorted items had been recklessly abandoned in panic. A display of sports drinks had been knocked over and plastic bottles covered the floor. A much beloved Power Rangers action figure lay in a puddle of bright blue liquid where it had been dropped as a frantic mother had grabbed the child and ran. The immediate area was taped off and tan-clad deputies had five men hand cuffed and shackled to a set of benches. Grissom barely glanced at them. "Greg, process the perps. Hair, fiber, you know the drill. Nick, go with the manager, I want the tapes of what happened." Both men nodded and Greg set his kit on a Pop-Tart display and popped it open while Nick set off to the security room. Gil ducked under the tape and looked at the scene. He was immediately struck by the amount of blood spatter. A scarf lay on the floor, soaking up a small pool of blood and a woman's purse was lying on its side, the contents flung out for all to see. He squatted down and looked at them - a cell phone, a tube of lipstick, a pen, and a few sanitary napkins. It looked like something he supposed Lindsey would keep in her purse. He looked around; the shiny white tile was splattered with red. "Five assailants, two victims." There was a jack handle lying half way under the end of the aisle display. Grissom pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached under the shelf. The silvery metal handle had fresh blood and hair on it. He bagged it and looked over his shoulder to the men who had viciously attacked two teenagers. "Five against two and at least one of them was armed." He looked at the floor where blood was coagulating in pools. He was about to measure the spill and take a sample when something else caught his eye. A fresh streak of black paint. He looked down the cereal aisle and sure enough, there was a can of spray paint lying on it's side.

A frisson of anger bubbled up through Gilbert Grissom, sending his pulse up. He clenched his fists together and tried to calm down. He made the mistake of looking back at the accused once more. One of them was grinning at Greg as he took pictures. "Bastards."

* * *

"Show me your hands please, palms down." Perp number one, also known as Howie Lungsford, held out his bruised hands and grinned. "Fucking terrorists will think twice before hittin' my town again." Greg almost had to take a step back, the man's breath smelled of stale beer and chewing tobacco, lots of both. Though the man was probably already in the system, Greg took finger prints anyway. There was dried blood on the man's hands and a bit of hair under his fingernails. Greg controlled his grimace and his sudden eruption of anger. He was sure that Grissom had some poem about anger. 'If you wait by the stoplight long enough the traffic will come to you' or something like that. He settled for running the latest Broken Innocence lyrics through his head; that seemed to help a little bit. He worked through all five men, tape lifting their clothes, which he would fully process later, and taking photos of their bruised knuckles. He made special note of black pain flecks on Josh Dempsey's - perp number four - hands.

* * *

The cameras were not the best in the world, neither was the system. Of course, Nick supposed they were there to stop shoplifters, not capture attacks. The cameras had captured the attack, though. It was in grainy black and white from three different angles. The two vics, a boy and girl, neither of whom could have been more than seventeen, had been shopping. They had been minding their own business and then with almost no warning the men had been around them. The first hit had been with a blunt object, some kind of rod. They had hit the man in the back. He'd gone down with the first hit and the woman had hit one of the men with her hand bag. Nick winced as he watched the men beat up on the two teens. One of the workers, he could pick her out from the vest she wore, had tried to stop the attack, but she'd been thrown into a display of drinks for her trouble. 

Nick paused the tape. "Who is that girl?" The manager tugged at his already rumpled tie, "Alyssa Russell, one of our cashiers. She refused to go to the hospital, she's in the break room in back." Nick sent the man a look, "A female cashier was the only one there to help, where is your store security?" The man, his nametag said Phil, sighed, "Cut backs. We don't have an internal security team anymore." Nick scowled at the screen, "Well Miss Russell smacked her head pretty hard against the corner of the shelf, she should get an MRI." The manager instantly went stiff. "She's my employee and I say she's fine." Nick stood up, "Well she's my witness and I say she'd going to the hospital and then to the PD to identify the attackers." He ejected the pertinent tape, "And I'm taking this into custody as evidence." Nick left the security room before the manager could sputter out his "But she's still on the clock!"

* * *

Jim Brass glared at the five men that the uniforms were taking away. "Throw them in holding until I get there. Separate cells away from the general population." He sighed when Grissom came to his side. "They're honest-to-God proud of themselves. They beat up a couple of high school students and they think they're heroes." He shook his head. "I just don't understand jack-offs like that." Grissom nodded, "I think that's a good thing, Jim." 

They walked out behind the uniforms, listening to the familiar drone of Miranda Rights being recited. The crowd there reacted. Mostly with jeers, but there were also, to Gil's great disgust, cheers. Microphones and cameras were shoved into their faces. The perps shouted and announced their names proudly. They threw around "God Bless America"s and racial slurs with equal enthusiasm. He shook his head and got into his Tahoe, he had an entire collection of evidence to run and no time to run it with.

Author's Note: The computer I'm using ate an hour of work. Really brain-draining Grissom-centric writing. My computer never did that. Of course, my computer is packed away with most of my other belongings at the moment. Am I pouting? Yeah, but hey, an hour is hard to come by right now.


	12. Chapter XI: American

**Author's Note: **I am no expert on the Islamic faith, nor am I portraying myself as such.

_Chapter XI_

_American_

"We were just shopping. W-we were getting groceries for dinner tonight. We go there all the time. I-I don't understand. I just don't get it." The boy shook his head and Warrick felt for him. Kalman Naseem was seventeen years old and spoke with a distinctive Mid-Western, the Dakotas perhaps, accent that was speckled with hints of LA and Las Vegas. His face was swollen and bruised and his right hand was encased in a still-drying cast. "My sister, is my sister okay?" Warrick smiled, "She's in the next room with a couple of female officers." The boy nodded. "I tried to fight back, but there were so many of them and they were strong. I mean I'm a football player, I can take a hit…but these guys." He shook his head, "They kept screaming. Calling us Terrorists." A tear slipped out of the boy's eye. "My Uncle was in the Towers when they went down, Mr. Brown. My older brother is in the Navy right now. We're not Terrorists." Warrick nodded, "I know you're not and we've got the best officers over there now. The guys who did this to you and your sister are going away for a very long time." He put his hand on Kal's shoulder. "I swear they are going to jail for a very long time."

* * *

Tears poured down the girl's face as she scrubbed at the black paint that had been sprayed all over it. Amari Naseem was a lovely young lady with big dark eyes and thick black hair. Bruises covered her arms and wrists and every time she took a breath she winced. "Thank you, thank you for understanding." Doctor Lucy Gabriel nodded and smiled, "It's not a bother, most of the guy doctors around here are jerks anyway." The girl tried to smile, but the expression turned to a wince. "Now, I know you've been through a lot today, but I need you to tell the police what happened." She saw the girl's eyes widen as much as the swelling would allow for. "I'm not decent." She indicated her uncovered head and bare arms, "I can't let a guy see me like this!" Lucy patted the panicked girl on the shoulder, "The Detective and CSI are both female, I know them, they're both very nice." She opened the door, "Come on in." 

Sara and Sofia both offered the girl a smile. Sofia approached first, "Hey, I'm Detective Sofia Curtis and this is Sara Sidle from the Crime Lab." The girl relaxed a bit. "Hey."

Sara took in the picture; the girl was no more then sixteen years old. She should have been giggling and watching MTV, she should have been hitting the mall with friends, she should have been a million places that didn't resemble anything like a hospital bed. She was bruised and her face was black with paint. She offered a smile, "We got the guys who did this to you and your brother. They are going to jail." The girl stopped scrubbing at her face. "That's what, four or five out of thousands who would do this." She sighed, "They spray painted my face, everything but this strip around my eyes. They were screaming and spitting on me. They told me that a…" She paused to wipe a fresh batch of tears away and take a calming breath. "They told me that a 'Sand-Nigger Woman' like me wasn't supposed to show her face. They held me down and spray painted my face black." They hit me and I was afraid. I was terrified that they would kill me right then and there. I knew they were going to rape and kill me…all while they were calling me a terrorist. Screaming that 'my people' blew up that bus." She ran her fingers through her hair and winced when she pulled away strands that had been ripped lose. "Both my father and mother were born American, just like my brother and all of my cousins, but the second something like this happens we stop being Americans and become suspects."

Sara walked towards her. "There is nothing I can say that can make that better…but you're safe now and the men who did it are behind bars." Sofia joined her, putting one hand on the small of the woman's back; making sure Sara knew she was there. "That's all we can do, I'm sorry."

The girl nodded, "It's all one person can do, really. You're working on the bus case, right?" Both women nodded, "Then focus on that. The bastards who did this to me, they're small fish. It's the real Terrorists that are at the heart of the problem."

Both women nodded and were in awe of the wisdom that came from such a young woman.

* * *

"MY CHILDREN ARE AMERICANS!" The man raged at her. "I sent them to the store with a grocery list. A perfectly safe trip that they've made a thousand times before but this time a bunch of REDNECKS attack them!" He paced the waiting room, "WHERE IS THE JUSTICE!" He whirled around, "My son plays football and my daughter wants to be a fashion designer, they do not spend time making BOMBS and killing innocent people!" Flecks of saliva flew from the enraged man's mouth. Catherine held up her hands, "Mr. Naseem…" He rounded on her. "Why are you talking to ME! Why aren't you arresting the filthy sons of whores who attacked my son and daughter!" Catherine ran her hand through her hair, pushing her bangs back. "We did, Mr. Naseem, they're already in custody and they won't be let out any time soon." The man sat heavily in one of the plastic chairs. "I lost a brother in the Trade Center Towers. I have a son in the Navy, a seven year old son and a two year old daughter at home with their mother and I have to find the words to explain to them why their older brother and sister were attacked…attacked for no other reason than their beliefs. For being who they, for being who we, are." He ran his hand through his thinning black hair. "I'm just a business man, Ms. Willows, trying to head his family. We are Americans, we just pray to Allah, instead of your God." 

Catherine sighed, "Mr. Naseem, we have the men who did this and they will go to jail for a long, long time." There was nothing she could really say that would make this better. "I'm very sorry this happened and the LVPD is making a top priority to make sure it doesn't happen again." He looked up, "How can we trust you when the police are already blaming the bus bombing on Muslims Extremists. By tomorrow my wife and daughter won't be able to leave the house because of fear." He shook his head and waved her away. "Leave me. I just want to collect my children and go home, home where I can protect them."

* * *

Sofia watched Sara as she carefully walked the girl through the process of swabbing for DNA and checking for epithelials. She explained everything as she went. "We'll have to take your clothes, but your dad brought you a new set, he's waiting outside for you and your brother. When we're done, you can see him." Amari nodded, "He's going to be really upset. My mom's probably worried sick." She tugged at the sleeve of the gown she'd been issued, "But my friends will be totally freaked when I tell them I got to talk with a couple of real cops. I _love_ Law and Order." Sara rolled her eyes and Sofia groaned, "Not another one." Amari laughed for the first time since they'd come in. 

There had been something in Sara's eyes, when the girl had spoke about fearing rape. It made her want to pull Sara close. It also made her want to shake the other woman and demand to know what had put that look there in the first place. The knowledge that there was a file that potentially held all the answers to the mystery that was Sara Sidle in her car made her all the more determined to wait for Sara to tell her.

* * *

Warrick grinned at the young man as the doctor checked his vitals. "So how many yards did you say you averaged last season?" Kal grinned, "Three thirty a game, the scouts are all over me." Warrick chuckled as he scraped under the boy's nails. "College ball, huh? That's pretty big-time, screaming fans, lots of cheerleader honeys throwing themselves at you." The boy went rolling his eyes and whistled for a moment, feigning ignorance, "I wouldn't know anything about that." The boy grinned, "Though, that redhead I saw with you earlier, not too shabby, Mr. Brown." Kal Naseem might pray facing Mecca, but he was a male and no male of the human species could resist the Willows charm. "I think you should stick with cheerleaders, man."

* * *

The television flickered in the back ground, the close captioning was turned on because the watcher had headphones on, listening to music as he worked. Competent hands flew over the keyboard with a fluid grace born of hours and hours of typing. The room was dim, because a black sheet hung over the only window and the lights were out. 

The top story was about the two Muslim kids who were attacked. That hadn't really been apart of the plan, but it was a nice after-affect. The computer screen in front of the typist was dark save for a picture of the flaming corpse of bus twenty-seven. The typed lines poured onto the screen.

_From Chaos we came and from Chaos we must return. So sayeth the Gods of Vegas._

The blinking cursor turned to an hour glass as the new entry uploaded on to the internet.

Author's Note, Yes another one: The Gods of Vegas, can we get an evil laugh?


	13. Chapter XII: Working the Case

_Chapter XII_

_Working the Case_

Sofia sat across from the perp, "So you thought, 'Hey I'll do the city a favor'" The man across from them nodded, "They had bomb stuff in their cart; I saw it. PVC pipes and fertilizer, stuff used to make bombs. They were probably going to blow up another bus or something." Sofia tilted her head to the side, "Maybe or you know, they could have been building a make-shift green house for their mother's birthday, which was what they were doing by the way. They were also buying the makings for a mean four alarm chili" Sofia checked her notes, "And a twelve pack of rootbeer. Now, Mr. Dempsey, is there something threatening about chili and rootbeer too because I think there are a few lunchboxes that need checking if there is." The man would have stood, but he was handcuffed to the table. "Don't take that tone with me, bitch! I'm an American who was doing his patriotic duty!" Sofia rose up so fast that her chair fell to the floor behind her. "And they were just Americans doing their shopping! They're still in high school. You and your buddies must feel real good, terrorizing and beating up children. What, do you stop by the junior highs and beat up kids for their lunch money!"

Dempsey jerked at her, as if he was trying to jump to his feet, "THEY'RE JUST A BUNCH OF FUCKING CAMEL-FUCKING-RAG-HEAD-TERRORISTS!" Sofia's fists hit the table hard enough to make it shake. "THEY ARE KIDS! TERRIFIED OUT OF THEIR WITS KIDS." She got close to him; their noses were inches apart. "The only Terrorist I see here is you." She shoved him back against his chair. "Two counts of attempted murder and assault, the clerk you threw half way across the store has a broken rib and a concussion, by the way, you won't see the sun for another fifteen years or so." She stormed out of the room, hearing his screams for a lawyer as she slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Grissom stood in the Observation room and had watched Sofia tear into the ring leader. She was angry, and tired, they all were. Jim would have to talk to her, though, this case was too high-profile to allow tempers to override logic and procedure. He rubbed at the migraine that he'd been battling. He checked his watch, thirty hours now. His pager went off and he frowned at it. 

A few minutes later, he was in the Trace Lab. "Yes Hodges?" The usually pompous tech turned to the man wearily. He handed him a few sheets of paper. "Reports on the trace you scrapped from the bus." He rubbed a hand over his unshaven face, "Methane, gasoline and what looks like a little gun powder, a basic but deadly bomb." He held up a finger, "Some of those melted fibers came back as a mix of cotton, nylon and polyester, my best guess is that the bomb was in some kind of bag, a back pack or a gym bag maybe." He sighed, "I've got a slide over there for you." He waved a hand in the general direction of a microscope. "Have fun with that." The man left Grissom to his own and sat down at the computer terminal.

It was a sad, Grissom mused, that Hodges was more tolerable when completely drained than when he was not. He had just focused in on the slides of the chemical samples that Hodges had laid out when he heard Nick above him. "I've been looking everywhere for you, man. Archie finally found the internal bus video." Grissom looked up. He flexed; his bones and muscles protesting as he moved. "That's good."

He walked along side Nick and envied the younger man's energy. It was not, he decided, that he was getting old, but that he was just not as young as the rest of his team. The AV lab was a mess of cords and computers and in the middle of it, looking perfectly at home, was Archie. Archie himself looked much like the lab, over worked and on the verge of a massive crash. His black hair was sticking up all over his head and Grissom could still see the outline of squares from where the tired tech had probably taken a nap on a keyboard. He looked up at Grissom, "Hey Boss." Grissom offered the man a half smile, "What have you got for us, Archie?" The man nodded and clicked a few keys, "Bus Twenty-Seven's last few transmissions. I've enhanced some of the pictures to get an ID off of bus passes, there are two tourists who paid cash, I'm using facial recognition software to hopefully get an ID, but short of that I got a still of both faces that we can release for identification." He handed them a sheaf of stills, "Each of our seven passengers, we didn't get one of the driver, but the company says that all their drivers have specialized codes and his was entered in so they're positive on that ID." Archie yawned, "That's all I could get off that tape. Your attack, though, was much easier to deal with." He hit another sequence of keys and brought that video up. "I cleaned it up, and grabbed stills of each attackers face. They're not going to get out of this; the DA will wipe the floor with them." Grissom smiled, "Good job, Archie."

He left Nick with Archie to finish up and went in search of Warrick. He found the man in one of the layout rooms, going through clothing. He looked up wearily, "Man I am really tired of going through clothes of people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time." He sighed, "What you got for me, Griss?" Grissom sighed, "I'm going to need you and one of the Detectives to run a search on any major purchases. Hodges broke down our trace. It was a bomb, and one of the main ingredients was methane." Warrick rubbed at his tired eyes. "Fertilizer, right?" He blew out a breath, "That's a long shot, Griss, a long shot." He looked down at the clothes he had been going over, the blood spattered tee shirt and pants of Kal Naseem. "But I guess that's all we got, huh?" Grissom shrugged one shoulder, "Maybe."

He checked his watch and realized that it was midnight, which meant they were now on Day Three. He and his team had all worked longer cases, pulled more hours, but the stress of this case was weighing on them heavily. He was no exception. Catherine had Lindsey, Sara had Sofia, Nick, Warrick and Greg had their friendship…He had himself. He had his music and his interests. Or as Catherine had once said, he went home to his sterile townhouse to do advanced level cross word puzzles. Self-pity and the sleep he now desperately needed would have to wait; he had cases to work and bombers to catch.

Author's Note: Sofia gets cranky when she misses her nap... On a more personal note, I can't believe I almost forgot how much I hate hospitals and doctors. Sitting in one for hours on end is a quick way to remember, that's for sure.


	14. Chapter XIII: Hello Gilbert

_Chapter XIII_

_Hello Gilbert_

By the time six in the morning rolled around, Gilbert Grissom had eight names to add to the growing list of casualties - Gladys Marley, 72; Helen Queen, 70; Alejandro Hernandez, 17; William and Christine Newcomb, 22 and 24 respectively; Edward Nott, 18, and Gina Marshall, 20. Rounding out the group was Jonas Wright, the bus driver. They would still need comparison DNA, which would be sketchy at best, and dental records, which would be definitive, to make a positive ID, but they had eight names for eight bodies and that would do for the moment.

He scratched at his chin which was well on its way to sporting a full beard once more. The throbbing migraine had turned to a dull but constant roar several hours before and his eyes were blurring over the evidence. He started closing files, the day shift would have to be caught up on the progress, but there were other crimes that had to be dealt with. Las Vegas might have come to a screeching halt when Bus Twenty-Seven had exploded but it hadn't lasted for long. There were new scenes to work and new crimes to solve.

He rubbed at his blood shot eyes and stood. He could hear his ligaments and tendons snapping and popping as he did. Shaking off the stiffness and the slight pain that was his age catching up to him, he walked down the hall. He looked into each of the labs. The CSIs and assorted techs were all getting ready to go home for a few hours. They were sluggishly filing their final reports of the shifts and storing away the tools of their trade. Catherine was on her phone, probably with Lindsey, and Greg was helping Wendy return the DNA lab to some sort of order. Warrick was in the drying room, double checking tags so that personal effects could be given to the correct families. Sara and Nick were signing off on the bus, which was being released to the Department of Tourism and Transportation.

He controlled a yawn and made a mental note to sign off on the copious amounts of overtime his team had put in. A half smile stole across his face. For once Sara wasn't dancing on the line of being cut-off for the month. That thought made him frown. Sara hadn't been home in days. Surely that couldn't be good for her. She was still, despite what she said, recovering. He frowned; add the fact that she had come within inches of being crushed… he probably should have sent her home. He headed towards the Day-Supervisor's office to update him and was almost there when the last person he wanted to see came in.

It was obvious that Conrad Ecklie had been meeting his usual quota of sleep; he looked freshly pressed and almost chipper. His balding head gleamed and his beady eyes flashed. "Conference room." His first instinct was something that he had to have picked up from Greg. He wanted to sigh dramatically and slouch into the first chair he saw in the conference room. Maturity and professionalism prevailed, though. As soon as he was in the door he rounded on the man who was technically his superior, "Yes, Conrad?"

Gil Grissom and Conrad Ecklie had never been friendly and since the 'Madison Daniels Case' they'd barely been able to stay in the same room for more then a few minutes. Ecklie resented the fact that Sara had been right. Grissom resented the fact that Ecklie had tried to have Sara fired. Those were, of course, only the newest problems in the twisted and tangled web of issues between the two men.

"Tell me you have a suspect." Grissom raised an eyebrow, "If you were here, instead on being attached to the Mayor's side, you'd know." Ecklie's face and balding head started to flush pink with anger. "Look I'm the one keeping the Mayor out of your ass so you can work this case. I've got the Mayor, the Sheriff, the entire city demanding answers. Then as if we weren't in a bad enough position, this attack." He threw his hands up, "Now I've got the NAACP, The LVIL, and half a dozen other groups up my ass, not to mention that Never Forget group." If any of the other man's words fazed Grissom, the stoic scientist didn't show it. "We're going as fast as we can. We can't go off half cocked on this, you know that."

Ecklie threw up his hands. "No, Gil, I know that my ass is on the line, along with the entire City Councils, the Mayor and the Sheriff. If we can't get answers, and fast, we're all out of a job." Grissom rubbed at his eyes, "Listen, Conrad." The man wasn't quite done yet, "No. You listen, I want answers, and I want them now. The Federal Government, the fricking Homeland Security Department is…"

Another voice from the door cut Ecklie off. "The fricking Homeland Security Department is here." The voice was distinctive, it sounded like whisky soaked sandpaper, rough but with a musical quality to it that made men sit up and pay attention.

Both men turned and stared.

The woman in the doorway looked over them with a head that was tilted in almost a regal manner. A smirk played across her lips and she raised a single fair brow, "Hello Gilbert. It's been a long time."

Author's Note: There is, somewhere in the first season, a snipet of conversation between Cath and Griss about past Grissom has...well, all in good time, my pretties, all in good time.


	15. Chapter XIV: Big Brother?

Author's Note: Quick correction. Last chapter I mentioned the NAACP. Wrong alphabet-soup name. I meant the ACLU, my fingers just sort of jumped ahead of my brain. Hope no one was confused by that.

_Chapter XIV_

_Big Brother Never Looked So Good_

"Hello Sybil." If Grissom was shocked or even upset by the woman's presence, it was impossible to tell. "Nice to see you again." She stepped into the room, "And you." She looked him over, and he looked over her.

Gil didn't know what she thought about him, but he knew what he was thinking about her. Fifteen years. He hadn't seen her for fifteen years and she was still gorgeous. Her ash blonde hair didn't have a streak of gray and it fell to her shoulders in a sleek style that urged a man to run his fingers through it. Her compact frame was small and petite, but it rounded out her expensive suit - he was sure Catheirne would know who designed it - very well. Her eyes were the same mix of Mediterranean blue and forest green, and her voice held the same commanding rasp that sent shivers down his spine.

"You're here about the bombing?" She nodded, "Naturally; it is what I do." Ecklie looked from Grissom to the woman he'd called Sybil. "And just who are you?" His question was answered with a glare of annoyance from the woman and a sigh from Grissom, "Conrad Ecklie, this is Sybil Hart, I believe she was slightly before your time here, she's now the Assistant Director of the Forensics Department with Homeland Security." He turned to Sybil, "This is Ecklie, he's the Assistant Director around here." She didn't spare the sputtering Ecklie a glance, "And you're still on the Graveyard shift, Gilbert?" He nodded, "You said it yourself, Sybil, I could never leave my Castle." She chuckled, "No man wants to stop being the big fish, Gilbert. Now tell me about your little bus mishap."

* * *

Catherine wanted to make sure Gil got home before she went. God knew the man would probably end up sleeping in his office if she didn't. She grinned. Once upon a time Sara would have had the same problem, but now she was in Sofia's capable hands. Catherine cocked her head. Unless her brain was playing tricks on her, there were voices in the conference room. 

She pushed the door open, "Gil?" Gil was there, as was Ecklie and "Sybil Hart." The words were laced with venom she thought was long dead and buried. "What brings you back to Vegas?"  
Grissom looked up at her, "Catherine, get the team together, we need to present everything we have to her, she's with Homeland Defence." Catherine's blue eyes darted from Grissom to Hart and back again. "Right. I'll go get the guys. There's no reason to hold the techs, is there?" Grissom shook his head, "No, no send them home." Catherine glared at Ecklie, waiting for him to counter the decision, but he did not.

Anger dogged her with every step. Years. She'd been gone for years. Now she came waltzing back in like everything was hunky-dory. Hunky-dory, her ass. Sybil Hart had left Vegas without looking back, had left Gil without looking back and had sunk her stiletto heel into his heart without batting an eyelash. The nerve of that bitch. Coming back, dressed in her Italian power suit, demanding to get in on their investigation. Her anger simmered and bubbled, but she clamped down on it, she wouldn't allow it to overflow. Gil would need her now more then ever. She swept into the bathroom to touch up her makeup. She'd be damned if Sybil Hart looked better than her.

* * *

They came, one by one, to the conference room. Ecklie looked them over and was slightly embarrased to be presenting them as CSIs. Sanders, Stokes and Brown all came in and took seats. All three looked scruffy and exausted. Sanders yawned until his jaw cracked and Brown looked like he was about to fall asleep in his chair. Vegas's best and brightest, what a joke. Captain Brass came in and had already taken a seat when he noticed their visitor. Ecklie smirked, it looked like someone had used a stun-gun on him. Catherine Willows came in and took a seat on Grissom's right, and glared at Hart. Ecklie wondered if he should sell tickets for a cat-fight; Willows hated it when women came into what she considered _her_ territory. He checked his watch, "Where are Sidle and Curtis?" Brass looked up from his notes. "I sent them both home." Ecklie bit down on his automatic response of tearing the Police Captain a new one. Sending Curtis home was one thing, but Sidle, for better or worse, was his CSI. "Call them back." Willows whirled around so fast, he almost didn't see it. "Not a chance. If you don't remember Sofia went trapsing through a disaster zone and Sara is still recovering." 

"From the stab wound inflicted on her by Madison Daniels." All eyes turned to the woman in the corner of the room.

* * *

Things changed. She recognized neither of the three men at the table. Brass, who'd just transferred from Jersey when she'd left, was leading up Homicide. Cheap stripper-nobodies like Catherine Willows could now sleep their way up the ladder to Supervisor. It shouldn't have surprised her, fifteen years was a long time, especially in Las Vegas. 

It was time, though, to take control of this little pow-wow. She didn't have time for local rivalries and bullshit. "That little story got all the way to The Hill, you know. It hit the Forensics community like a shock-wave too. The world-famous Gilbert Grissom's hand-picked protégé stabbed by a psycho that almost made it to the Senate. The FBI had to rush in and save her, didn't they? It brought this whole little dysfunctional department into the light. I'm surprised there wasn't a movie of the week." She stood at the empty head of the table, "I'm not going to let this turn into another press-disaster. This is bigger than Vegas." She looked over all of them. Catherine looked like she was about to leap from her chair and claw her eyes out. The man she'd been introduced as Ecklie looked both guilty and resentful. Brass was unreadable, though he had stiffened up at the mention of Miss Sidle's stabbing. The trio of unnamed CSIs were looking to Gilbert, and Gilbert was his usual stoic self.

He had a little more gray on top and a few more lines around his intense blue-gray eyes, but Gilbert Grissom was still a catch. He watched her now, following her with his eyes.

"Las Vegas has always been on the list of potential targets, which is why we have people here, working as liaisons with the FBI field office." Ecklie's lips thinned, "We've kept the agents updated." Sybil crossed her arms, "They should have _led_ the investigation. This isn't a Homicide investigation, I don't need a bunch of local _shmucks_ on it, I need _agents."_

Brass scowled at her, "A little girl owes her life to one of those shmucks. If you've got a beef with me or one of my detectives, too bad. I've talked to the Sheriff and Mayor, you aren't throwing us off this case."

A local versus government pissing match over jurisdiction, she'd expected nothing less. "I wouldn't dream of taking Vegas off the case, but I'm here to make sure it's handled correctly. The press is running rampant all over this case, you've got riots erupting at the local grocery stores. The ACLU is having conniption fits, the Islamic community is up in arms and something called 'Never Forget' is reaming your Mayor so hard I'm surprised he can even walk. The _President _asked me to come down here _personally_ and get this disaster under control. She pulled back her chair and sat down, crossed her legs and steepled her hands. "Now I want to know, down to the smallest detail, what happened and what's being done about it."


	16. Chapter XV: Morning Musings

_Chapter XV_

_Morning Musings_

After half an hour, they were cut loose. They'd gone through the case quickly, dumping out their files and notes. There had been none of the characteristic cutting up or smiling. Tense, was the understatement of the year. That room had been ready to snap from the time the meeting had commenced to the time Ecklie had dismissed them.

Sybil Hart, Warrick decided, was a pill. That he could handle, but there was more. There was something between her and Griss, it was all but palatable. He'd always figured Grissom had gotten burned by a woman, and this woman left raging brush fires in her wake, that was for sure. She definitely looked down her nose at them, which was crap. Sure, they hadn't looked as coiffed as her, but they'd been running on caffeine, a wing and a prayer. She'd put herself on all their bad sides, even Catherine. Especially Catherine.

Speaking of whom, the woman had headed out of the room like the devil had been on her tail. He looked into the locker room only to find it, with the exception of Nick's truly nasty cross-trainers, devoid of life. He sucked in his breath; there was only one other option in this part of the building.

He stood looking at the door of the Ladie's room. Oh the things he did for love. He pushed open the door and hoped like Hell that Catheirne was the only woman inside. She was. Catherine Willows was a vision, even exausted and pissy, there was an aura around her: grace, beauty and a heart bigger then the Mojave. She was running cold water off her wrists and hands, occasionally splashing it on her face. She was muttering curses the entire time. Without a go-ahead from his head, his body moved and he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle. "Hey." The stiffness drained from her and he felt Catherine's body sag against him. He happily took it and pulled her closer. "You okay?"

Catherine looked up at their reflections in the mirror. Her pale skin against his mahogany, her bright blue eyes and his warm green ones. She sighed, "Yes. No. I don't know." They stood for a moment, quietly enjoying their closness. "She hurt Griss, didn't she?" Catherine nodded, her gaze on the reflection of his face in the mirror. "She left him, God, fifteen years ago. I was still a tech, Lindsey…I don't even think I was carrying her yet." Her eyes fluttered shut, "It was a long time ago." She leaned her head back against his chest, "But she came back, bigger then life. I could see it in Griss's eyes. All those old hurts just came back. He's going to pretend he's fine, but she hurt him bad. I don't know all the details, but it took Griss a long time to get back to normal." Warrick chuckled, the rumble was a delicious feeling that ran through his chest and into her. "Grissom isn't normal." She opened her eyes and looked up into his face, "Normal for him." She sighed and turned around so that they were facing each other. "He's going to let her get back under his skin. I just know he is." Warrick shrugged, "Grissom is a big-boy, Cath. He can take care of himself. That's not what all this." He rubbed a thumb across the tear tracks that she'd been trying to get rid of, "Is about."

Catherine huffed and pulled away from him. "I _hate_ her. Not just because of Griss. I'm more selfish then that." She crossed her arms. "She doesn't look at me like a CSI or a colleague. She still sees the stripper. She made that clear from my first day here. I was a cheap stripper, Lab eye candy. Told me…God she told me that I could forget coming in and taking her cases and work from her." She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair again, "The same exact thing I said to Sara when she got here. I look at Hart and I keep seeing two things. Me, back then and the woman I almost became. I was toeing the line of becoming another Sybil Hart, a heartless ambition-driven bitch."

Warrick caught her face between his hands, "That is not true." A tear dripped out of her eye. "Yes, it was. When the shift split, I was well on my way to being her. I tore into Sara over the Melton case for no other reason than I could. I was on this power trip from Hell. I tore into pretty much everyone, Gil, Sofia, Sara, Greg. It took Nicky being kidnapped to snap me back." She shook her head. "Now she's back and it's like, I don't know, she brings out the worst in me."

He'd never thought he'd see the day when someone intimidated Catherine Willows. "You're tired, you're bitchy, but you're not a bitch, Cath. If she brings out the worst in you, oh well. You're the best we got, girl. Smart and pretty, and you're a hell of a CSI. Hart can take Homeland Secuirty and stick it where the sun doesn't shine." He watched the smile spread across her face. "Thanks, 'Rick." She went to her tiptoes and leaned in to kiss him.

"Perhaps I should try a different ladies room, this one is most definitely occupied."

Startled, both Warrick and Cathirine turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. Warrick closed his eyes and Catherine grinned, "It's good to see you, Heather."

* * *

For a lack of other options, Catherine and Warrick led Lady Heather to the break room. Catheirne smirked as she caught Warrick trying not to stare at the dominatrix. No jelousy jumped up, though. She herself found the woman fascinating and undeniably sexy. No one, not even herself, was immune to the woman's powerful allure. She caught herself staring more then once on the walk over. 

Heather knew, of course, she was used to commanding the attention of those around her. Catherine would wager that their stares amused her, maybe intrigued her. She would only smirk, though, she wasn't there for them. If Catherine was not mistaken, the Lady was here for one person and one alone and niether of them was Gilbert Grissom.

* * *

When they reached their destination, the scene brought a smile to both Catherine and Warrick's face and a slight smirk to Heather's. "Things around here are much more interesting then I imagined." 

The couch was as occupied as the bathroom had been. There was no almost-kiss in progress, though. Sara and Sofia were curled together, in near comatose states. Half eaten plates of food indicated that they hadn't intended to sleep, but exhaustion had won out in the end.

Catherine grinned and noted that someone, probably Jim –who had played Ecklie like a fiddle- had thrown a light blanket over them. Sara was leaning against Sofia, her dark hair in a curly disarray around her face. Sofia didn't seem to mind the extra weight though. Her arm, wrapped in now dingy gauze, was thrown over the other woman. It wasn't a sexual embrace, but one of comfort. She was loathe to disturb them, but they needed to sleep in their own bed for a bit. Warrick went over to them, a slight grin on his face.

"Ladies."  
Neither of them stirred.  
"Sara. Sofia."  
Nothing.  
The grin turned to a full blown smile. "WE'VE GOT A 419! A 419 IN HENDERSON!"

His yell broke through both women's sleep, and how. Sara jerked and tried to roll, Sofia shook herself awake and tried to sit up. Their disjointed and shaky movements ended with Sara on the floor and Sofia grabbing for her gun.

Sara rubbed her smarting elbows and glared at Warrick. "Come down here so I can strangle you." Sofia, half sitting up on the couch, glared at him, "That was cruel, Brown." She winced a little as she helped Sara off the floor. "And uncalled for." Catherine's half-muffled snicker was what made both women look her way. "Oh."

* * *

It had been a sort of secret, she'd always wanted to meet Lady Heather, but this hadn't been the scene she'd had in mind. Sara stood up. "Hi." She shot Catherine a 'You better have a good explanation' look and Catherine smirked, "I don't think you've met. Sara, Sofia this is Lady Heather. Heather, this is Sara Sidle and Detective Sofia Curtis." 

Lady Heather inclined her head, "A pleasure to finally meet you both." Both Sara and Sofia, still groggy from their nap, mumbled off a greeting in kind. Lady Heather smiled, "I'm sure you'll both want to be going." She turned to Catherine, "As good as it is to see you, Catherine, I'm actually here to see Gil Grissom."

Warrick nodded, "Cath, you walk Sara and Sofia out, catch them up on what they missed, I'll go let Griss know that he's got a visitor."

Author's Note: Lady Heather had all but a few of her scenes cut from the last story. I hated to do that, but it was either her or Cami and Cami was just more important to that story. Rest assured we'll see plenty of both them in this story. Lots of Lady Heather goodness to spread around in this story. I only hope I do her justice.

Now, Catherine and Sybil. In a moment of weakness, which is now over, Cath let it spill. Sybil is to Catherine as Catherine was to Sara. Sorry, but everyone can't love Cath. I'm sure someone somewhere at the LVPD must have had that sort of 'She doesn't belong here' attitude about Catherine in the early days. We see more of that guilt Catherine carries about Sara, something she won't lose for a long time, and a bit of her insecurity, which we almost never see. I like this take on her charecter, but of course, I'm bias.


	17. Chapter XVI: Then and Now

_Chapter XVI_

_Then and Now_

Gil Grissom had retreated to his office. No, he had not retreated; he had retired there before he went home. The fatigue of going far too long without rest, the pressure of the case and the surprise of Sybil's return. He was not a man given to displays of histrionics, but he wanted to throw his hands up, storm out of the building and not look back. Instead, he filed away everything pertinent to the investigation. Filed, of course, was a subjective term, one that he and Catherine often clashed over. She insisted on a system with tabs and subdivided files. That was fine, for some things. His paperwork, though - the endless piles of it - were hardly relevant at the end of the day. Bureaucracy was a tedious, but necessary sister to the science of his job. Bureaucracy. That brought him right back to Sybil. She had always relished the paper work, the bureaucracy, the politics of the job. All the things he'd hated.

He opened one of his drawers, and pulled out an old photograph. It, much like the one he had on his desk, was a picture of the Las Vegas Graveyard Shift Annual Christmas Party. Of course, the framed photo on his desk was from 2005 and the one in his hands was from 1989. He looked young. That was the first thing that struck him. The people around him in the picture had spread to the four winds. It had been so long ago, before he'd ever heard the name Catherine Willows or even Jim Brass. There, to the right of Jacob St. Claire - he had been with the Phoenix Forensics team then - was Sybil. If he knew anything at all about matters of the heart, he knew that he had loved her. It hadn't been the brotherly love he had for Catherine, or the mentor-but-maybe-something-more love he had for Sara. It had been an all-encompassing emotional tsunami, an obsession, an addiction. She had fascinated him in a way that no other thing ever had. More than the life-cycle of an Amazon Basin fruit fly, more than the purification process, more than his stale fast lady of science.

He ran his hands over his hair and through his thick stubble. He needed to go home. There would be time to deal with Sybil later. She would make sure of it, he was sure. She wasn't a woman who would tolerate being ignored or being put second to anything. That had been what she'd told him when she'd left for Washington. She wouldn't be his mistress while he was married to his work. There had been other things, of course, but thinking about them would only tire him further.

He held the picture over the overflowing trashcan for a moment, wanting to let it drop. He put it back in the drawer. He was about to start gathering his things for the trip to his town house, when there was a knock at his office door. He braced himself, but it was only Warrick. He settled back in his seat. "I'm going home, Warrick, just like you should be." The dark CSI, who looked like he'd seen far better days, cracked a small smile. "You've got a visitor, Griss." Grissom waved his hands. "Send them to the Days Supervisor, I'm done." Warrick shook his head, "No, man, I think you really want to see this _Lady_ yourself."

From behind Warrick's wrinkled and slightly odorous form, there came a voice.

"Hello again, Gilbert."

Velvet, black velvet, that was what her voice brought to mind. It had a darkly melodious sound to it. The sound of the honeyed words caressed him with the potential for warmth and taunted him with just a taste of mystery. The voice was a perfect representation of the woman it belonged to. She stepped out from the shadows behind Warrick Brown and for a moment, they simply took each other's presence in.

Some men would envy his position, he knew. Two beautiful women greeting him in the same way, both sending shivers up his spine, in the space of a day or so.

Heather was not simply beautiful. That would be too soft a word for her. Hundreds of men, and women as well, literally threw themselves at her feet and it was no wonder why. She was a dark goddess. She wore a simple black dress that might have been considered plain on any other woman. The garment clung to her every curve, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of pale cleavage that was set off by a single, simple stone at her throat. It was an emerald that was as intensely green as her eyes. Her dark wine red hair tumbled down her back and her lips were painted a dark shade of seductive red. She was a dark goddess, one that had been touched by sadness. You could see the ever-present loss of her daughter lingering in her worship-me eyes. Yes, beautiful was not the word for her, there was not a word in English or any other language to describe the Dark Lady of Vegas.

While he'd been taking her presence in, Warrick had slipped out, leaving them alone. Grissom put his coat on the desk. "It's good to see you, Heather." She inclined her head, her eyes sweeping him up and down. "You need rest. Your team is leaving, one by one and" Her eyes flicked back towards the door that Warrick had gone through, "Two by two, but you're still here." He shrugged, "A supervisor's work is never done." A russet brow arched and she crossed her arms, "If you lead by example, it's a wonder you've any underlings left." There was at least four feet between them and he wasn't sure if it was too little or too much. He just didn't know where he stood with this woman. She looked around the room, then back at him. "I've followed the stories." He nodded, he knew that her 'Never Forget' was a powerful voice, demanding the sheriff do something, especially after the attack on the Naseem Teenagers. "Is there something I can do for you?"

She held out her hand. "I thought you might like a morning away, a breakfast before you give into Morpheus's most insistent pull."

He didn't know where the invitation came from, nor did he care. He took her hand. Her slender and manicured pianists fingers looked strangely out of place against his tanned and slightly callused ones. It sent a jolt through him. It was a good kind of jolt, one a man could get used to very quickly. He felt a smile, the first in what seemed like days, steal across his face, "After you."

* * *

The Scientist and the Dominatrix, an odd pair. One that she would have never put Gilbert in. They walked out together, though, and pulled away in her black sports car for parts unknown. Though she was sure she had an idea as to what would be happening. She'd never pictured him as someone's spanking partner.

She stood in the shadows of her commandeered office. Conrad Ecklie was not especially happy that she'd taken his office, but Catherine's was a shared closet. As much as she'd enjoy taking the other woman's space, out of pure spite, it was just too small for her needs. She went back around the desk and sat in the chair. It was a cheap office chair, not like the plush leather one she had in her office in Washington, but one made do.

She was back in Vegas, Sybil mused, back to where she'd started. She was surprised to find that there was more than nostalgia stirring inside her. She'd actually missed the city and the lab. She'd missed Gilbert. There had been others, of course. She'd even made the mistake of marrying once. While she was visiting her past, though, seeing old stomping grounds through new eyes, she intended to remind Gilbert of what they had together.

There had been rumors. The Forensics world was a rather small circle and the name Gilbert Grissom was well known. She'd heard rumors from time to time. Gilbert and Catherine Willows, Gilbert and Sara Sidle, Gilbert and Sofia Curtis, Gilbert and a visiting specialist, Gilbert and this woman, Gilbert and that woman. This dominatrix was something else, a new element.

Lady Heather - and what kind of woman went by just her name any way - would have to understand, Gilbert was hers. He had just forgotten that. She might not be back permanently, but while she was here, she would claim what was rightfully hers.

Author's Note: Sign up sheets for the Sybil Hart fan club can be found in the lobby.


	18. Chapter VII: Office Politics

_Chapter XVII_

_Office Politics_

The desert morning was burnt away by the mid-day sun, which later set behind a horizon of steel and metal. Vivid oranges and reds were slowly replaced by inky indigos and blacks, which were overpowered by the Technicolor explosion of neon. Night settled back over Vegas and the city embraced the darkness. The clubs pumped out music, the casinos drained pockets and the crimes of the wicked and the work of the righteous continued on.

The small break had been needed and was appreciated, but no one's batteries were completely recharged. The night shift was, however, functioning on a normal level again, which was an improvement over the zombies with microscopes and test tubes that they had been. They looked and felt human once more. The guys, with the exception of Greg, were cleanly shaven. Greg was under the mistaken impression that the stubble made him look tougher. He would be corrected, many times, before the night was over. The two women looked fresher, ready for anything.

Coffee was being slurped and doughnuts, calorie-rich goodness donated by Nick, were being munched on. They were waiting on Grissom. It wasn't unusual for them to meet like this, the CSIs. Sometimes the detectives or a few of the techs joined in, but tonight it was just the team.

Sara was leaning against the counter, telling Greg about some new and cutting-edge procedure she'd studied up on while recovering, Nick was entertaining Catherine with anecdotes from his Frat days and Warrick was watching quietly, chiming in here and there.

That was how he found his team. It was, he realized, a good feeling. Everything was back to the way it was supposed to be. He'd never realized how vital Sara was to the ebb and flow of the lab and the team until she'd been ripped away from it. There were, of course, subtle differences now. Catherine and Sara stood closer together, by choice, and laughed. They were friends now. He would even hazard to guess that they were good friends. The wedding band was gone from Warrick's hand and his eyes were once again drifting in Catherine's direction. The bonds between the people on his team were strong, stronger then they'd ever been before. That was what made them the best at what they did. It wasn't any one tool, or any one person, despite what some said. It was the way they all worked together, the trust in each other's skills and instincts. They weren't just friends, they were family.

Greg looked up and saw him, "Hey Boss, please tell Sara that I am not a crash-dummy." He shook his head, "Sara, don't break Greg, we've just got him house broken." His comment made the entire room burst into laughter. Warrick looked over at him. He was sporting a I-Know-Something-Everyone-Else-Doesn't smirk, "You're in a _good_ mood tonight." Catherine grinned at him, "Long day in _bed_, Gil?" He didn't dignify that with an answer.

Instead he put the small stack of papers on the table. "All right, enough playing around, we've got work to do tonight." They all turned to him, ready to get their assignments. He held up a paper, "We can't all keep working on The Bus, we have to split that now." There were nods all around, "Nick, you've got a 419 over at Casers, and Greg you've got a B&E turned Assault." He handed each man the correct sheet. "Sara" The woman perked up, "You're in the lab." True to form, she opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. "Don't pretend like your back hasn't been hurting." As she'd been absent-mindedly massaging her lower back, she shut her mouth and simply scowled. "Warrick, you'll be floating, work the bus case unless something else comes in." Catherine raised her hand, "I've got a good chunk of the rainforest waiting for me on my desk, not to mention more evidence to run." He nodded, "You're here, then. I'll be working with Agent Hart tonight. Now, close the Crispy Creme box and let's go."

* * *

The night, compared to the last few days, was calm. It was almost boring. Everyone was anxious, they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. By one in the morning, it still hadn't. Catherine took off her glasses and laid them on her desk. She rubbed at the back of her neck, which was stiff from spending most of the night bent over paperwork, and stretched. She left her office and headed towards the break room. She caught her reflection in the glass walls and shook her head. Even she could admit that she had gone a little-overboard with her outfit tonight. She had on her best suit, usually reserved for court appearances and the odd press conference, high heels and she'd spent at least an hour and a half on her hair and makeup. Sara hadn't gone to those lengths; she was dressed in her usual black slacks and a shirt that looked like it probably come from Sofia's side of the closet. Sara, of course, hadn't met Sybil Hart.

Catherine breezed into the break room and smiled when she caught sight of Sara at the table, splitting her attention between her salad and some report or other. She sat down beside her and stared at the salad. "It was more tempting to steal your lunch before you went vegetarian." Sara rolled her eyes, "I knew that was you. Hodges has turkey on white and his drink is still intact." Catherine wrinkled her nose. "The man puts pickles and horseradish on his sandwiches, no thank you." She poked at Sara's bag, "You usually bring extra." Sara put her hand over the bag, "I might have something." Catherine felt a 'but' coming on. "But, I want to know what's going on." Sara's dark eyes narrowed at her. "This Hart woman has Grissom tied up in knots."

Catherine sighed, "You better have something good in there." At Sara's annoyed glance, Catherine slouched back in her chair. "She burnt him, bad. I had just started here, a lab assistant, the janitor was higher up in the pecking order then I was. I don't know all the details. Sybil Hart was the Queen of the Lab. Smart, ambitious and she had Gil wrapped around her finger." Catherine smirked, "She was sort of like you, in that respect." Sara gave her a look and Catherine jerked her hand out of the way of Sara's fork when it came at her. "Anyway. She got a job with the FBI and left him high and dry without so much as a 'Let's be friends'."

Sara I-Miss-Nothing-Sidle cocked her head to the side, "He loved her?" Catherine shrugged one shoulder, "Yeah, I think he did. He had gotten back to normal, well normal for him anyway, and I thought…" She shook her head, "I just don't want him to get hurt again." Sara nodded and released her hold on the bag. Catherine took it and found a grilled chicken sandwich that had probably been meant for Sofia. Sara pulled another bottle of water out of the bag and wiggled it. "You're worried about Griss, but that doesn't explain this." She looked Catherine up and down, "You look like you're about to go full on, Ovaries of Titanium Super Bitch. I've been on the other side of that look, and I almost feel bad for Hart."

Leave it to Sara, Catherine mused, to get to the real core of the problem. "She and I don't get along, simply put she's a b…"

Catherine's words were cut off by Wendy's entrance. "Bitch!" She attacked the mini-fridge, and took out the drink that had Hodges name on it in bold orange sharpie. She slammed the refrigerator door hard enough behind her to cause the contents to rattle and something fall. "That G-Bitch. How dare she…" She all but tore the cap off of the bottle and took a deep drink. She covered her eyes, "Please ignore the crazy girl in the lab coat, ladies." Catherine swallowed her mouthful of chicken. "Let me guess, five feet four inches of Homeland Security is behind your attack on the fridge." Wendy took the seat across from Sara. "How'd you guess?" Sara smirked, "Welcome to the Sybil Hart Fan Club, sign ups and tee shirts are in the lobby."

* * *

Wendy grinned a bit as rolled the cool bottle across her forehead. "The woman had the nerve and the cajones to come into _my_ lab and criticize _my _work." She tipped her head back and took a long drink of the soda. She didn't miss Catherine's less-then-subtle staring while she did so.

It had been months and it still burned, but Wendy wasn't about to let a little thing like unrequited love and being more or less dumped, get in the way of a good bitch and gossip session. She was still a female with a pulse and there were priorities. Even I'm-too-butch-for-my-boots Sofia Curtis couldn't resist plugging into the office grapevine every once and a while.

Sara scowled, "I've not even met her yet, and I don't like her." She shot Catherine a look, "Anyway, I thought I was supposed to be your arch nemesis. The bane of your existence and blah blah blah, locked in mortal combat forever." Wendy laughed, it was amusing because a few months before that had been very true. Catherine only grinned, "No, sorry, you were never my arch-nemesis, and you're spending far too much time with Greg by the way; you're the sexy villainess that's in the story to tempt me. It's supposed to be character building."

Wendy flinched on the inside. There it was; she was blatantly hitting on Sara right in front of her. She couldn't help but be jealous, though. Since her rescue of Lindsey, Sara had become Catherine's new best buddy. Her habit of touching the other woman, of invading her space was strangely familiar. Even now, they were sitting closely together, Catherine angled towards Sara, their elbows touching. Not for the first time in the last few months, Wendy wondered who she had really been a fill-in for, Warrick or Sara.

She mentally shook herself. That was not a productive train of thought. She and Catherine were over and Sara was devoted to Sofia. She shrugged and pushed the annoying mix of feelings back.

"I told her that I didn't answer to her. If she had a problem with my work, which was that idiot Toliver's screw-up but that's not the point here, she could take it up with Grissom or Ecklie. Then I not-so-nicely asked her to get out of my way so I could get some work done." Catherine graced her with a big, bright smile. "Good girl." Wendy scowled, "That didn't make her too happy, of course. She told me that, and I quote, 'You're here to work for me, not sashay around like a piece of eye-candy in a lab coat'."

Wendy suddenly found her wrist in the vice-like grip of Catherine Willows. "She said that? That bitch, that fucking bitch. What else did she say to you?" She wasn't allowed to answer, because Catherine was on a roll. "She has no right. The nerve, bullying _my_ staff, demeaning _my girl_ like that." Oblivious to Sara's presence, or Wendy's wide-eyed stare, Catherine loosened her grip and rubbed her thumb over Wendy's wrist. "Are you okay?" Wendy nodded mutely. Catherine smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "I'll make sure that bitch doesn't bother you again." Catherine let go and stood up. "I'm going to go have a talk with _Agent Hart_."

She stormed out of the room, much like Wendy had stormed in, leaving the two remaining brunettes sitting there in shocked silence.

Wendy rubbed at her hand. "What just happened?" Sara patted her on the shoulder, "Sybil Hart picked the wrong girl to mess with. God help her if Cami hears about this." With that, Sara packed up the remains of her lunch and left Wendy sitting there by herself, presumably to chase down Catherine to calm her down before the strawberry blonde let her temper get the best of her.

The DNA technician sighed, "Well damn." There was another piece of the extremely confusing puzzle she'd found herself in, Cambridge Parker, PhD. Things, she decided, had been much less confusing in San Francisco. It was no wonder that Mia had left, a girl could get seriously messed up around this place.

Author's Note: Poor Wendy. I need to cut her a break...nah.


	19. Chapter VIII: Just Like Old Times

Author's Note: It's already tommorow...

_Chapter XVIII_

_Just Like Old Times_

It was almost as if the years hadn't gone by. The technology was newer, more cutting edge, the labs had been remodeled, the case was different. The lab coat draped over her petite form the same way, she wore the same intoxicating perfume. They fell into an almost forgotten rhythm of working together. They'd always been able to work together. They had been a great team once, they still were. His cool logic and strict step-by-step approach of following the evidence and using science was balanced out by her more instinctive leaps and bounds. Her smoke and whisky drenched voice filled up the room. "The fire destroyed most of our evidence. This has Al-Queda written all over it, though. The UK Attacks, you know." Grissom looked over at the pictures of all the victims. "It still doesn't feel right. Have you noticed that Al-Queda hasn't spoken up. They're not taking credit." Sybil's ash blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, wisps escaped the strict style and framed her face. "Not yet, someone could be sitting on the video confession or it could be loaded up but not sent to a station yet." She shook her head, "We might have already intercepted it, but not know what it is, yet." Grissom frowned, "But there was only one attack, it lacks their usual coordinated one-two punch." Sybil shrugged and looked at the laptop she'd plugged up. "We're also looking very hard at domestic cells. That bus-line had green groups all over it, something about emissions. Terrorists threaten Vegas all the time. Sam Braun reported six separate threats just since he announced he was destroying the Rampart to build his new place." Grissom frowned, "I didn't hear anything about that." She smiled at him, "Gilbert, even if you had heard something about it, you would have dismissed it. Sometimes the only thing that sticks in that gorgeous head of yours is murder." She invaded his space and looked through the microscope in front of him. They were close together, almost touching, "The bomb is simple, a child could find the directions for it on the internet." She twisted the dial to focus on something, "We can run the sample against out domestic database, thouh. Ecoterrorists tend to use fertilizer more then anyone else. The FBI would know more about that than I would. I've some contacts in the Bureau, still. The last I heard, they got an agent on the inside of one of the groups." She backed up off the microscope, sliding by him, her back to his chest. She scribbled something down, "I'll see if I can get anything on that front. NSA is dumping emails, trying to find some kind of communiqué dealing with Vegas." Grissom nodded, "You do that. Alphabet soup is fine for you, but I think I'll stick to the evidence."

Sybil laughed, "I'd almost forgotten that, your little mantras, the evidence never lies, follow the evidence, the body tells a story." She shook her head and looked around the layout room they were in. "Your poems, riddles and quotes, Gilbert Grissom, walking enigma." She grinned, "Remember that time Kyle wanted to go on his first solo-419?" He nodded, "He wasn't ready." She chuckled and leaned against the table, crossing her legs at the ankles. "No he wasn't. He leads up one of my teams now. I heard him bust out the same riddle on one of his newbies." He arched an eyebrow and she continued, "Spell 'spot'. Say 'spot'." Grissom smiled, remembering the rest, "And what do you do at a green light?" She grinned, "Exactly, Kyle just about kicked a hole in that old couch in the break room when he'd realized he'd said 'stop'." She put her hand on his arm, "There's the Gil I know. You never did smile enough."

The smile faded, "Detectives Curtis and Brass finished their background checks on the bus victims, there was nothing of note."

Sybil sighed, "Just like old times, the minute things start getting personal, you run back to your Hallowed Lady of Science." She went to the door. "I'll call you if I find anything. Stay here and play with your evidence, Gilbert." He watched her leave. His "Hallowed Lady of Science" had never left him. She had stayed beside him even when others had not, just as she did now. He shook his head and turned away from the empty doorway, "Just like old times, huh, Sybil."

* * *

She was almost to her make-shift office, paging through her phone book, trying to remember if she'd stored Agent Morrison's number or not, when she head her name being shouted. 

It was not, as she'd hoped, Gilbert.

"Can I help you, Catherine?"

She was not the wisp of a woman she'd met. Nor was she still a lowly assistant. Catherine Willows had risen to what she herself had once been, the alpha bitch of the Graveyard Shift. The cobalt blue pants suit and white silk shirt looked good on her, as did the French manicure and the blonde highlights. Sybil could admit that the years had been kind to Willows. The woman in question stared her down. "You have no right talking to Wendy Simms like that." Sybil raised a fair brow, "Who?" Catherine's hands curled into fists. Fists that she was sure Catherine wanted to raise against her. "The DNA tech that you tore into." Sybil smirked, "Ah, you mean that little piece of eye candy in the lab coat." Ah, that well-honed barb hit her dead on. Blue eyes shot sparks, "If you have a problem with one of _our_ techs, you go through Gil or me. This isn't _your_ territory any more, Hart."

Sybil crossed her arms, "So it's yours now, huh? The standards around this place must have dropped pretty low over the last fifteen years." Catherine matched her stance, arms crossed, chin jutted out, "Fifteen years, Hart. We've gotten along without your bull shit for fifteen years. You're not welcome here any more, or didn't you get that? To answer your question, yes. Yes, this is _my _lab and _my _team now and you're not going to talk to _any_ of them like that again. Do you understand?"

Sybil couldn't answer because another voice interrupted, "Is this a private pissing match, or can I join in?"

A lanky brunette in dark colors was coming their way. Sybil looked her over. "You must be Sara Sidle." The woman came to Catherine's side. "I must be." She shrugged, then turned her attention to Catherine, completely ignoring her. "I could use your help down in the garage, if you're done here." Catherine scowled at Sybil, "I think I got my point across."

She watched them walk away. The lines had been drawn, then.

* * *

She walked, half pulled, into the garage by Sara. As soon as the door was closed, Sara whirled around on her. "Are you insane?" Months ago, she wouldn't have hesitated to rip into Sara. Now she only sighed. "Did you see how she looked at you?" Sara blinked, "No, I was too busy making sure you didn't claw her eyes out. There's a difference between having a hallway fight with me and a Federal Agent, Catherine. What were you thinking?" 

Catherine could admit that she hadn't been thinking. "I don't know, I was mad. You know how I get when I'm mad." Sara smiled, "At least you didn't throw something at her." Catherine chuckled weakly, "Yeah. Good thing I had my side-kick with me." Sara cocked an eyebrow, "Sidekick?" She pouted, "I thought I was the tempting villainess. Catherine chuckled, "Yes, side-kick, partner in crime-solving. You obviously didn't watch _Birds of Prey_." The comment flew over Sara's head and Catherine had to smirk. The things you learned with a teenage daughter, you never knew when they'd come in handy.

Author's Note: I had that 'Say spot, spell 'spot'' thing done to me at work. About a second after I gave the wrong answer I sort of blinked and thought, 'I was just Grissomed.'

Just for form's sake, I want to say I don't own _Birds of Prey._ That, along with a slew of other charecters and universes, belongs to DC Comics.

Also, a shiny merit-badge to anyone who sees the crossover I slipped in there.

Finally, not to spoil, but the image of Sofia Curtis wielding a shot gun in Episode 07x04, 'Fannysmackin' has officially become the one I bring to my minds eye when I'm dealing with jerks at work and still have to smile. fans self Good stuff, wish I would have recorded it.


	20. Chapter XIX: Setting the Stage

_Chapter XIX_

_Setting the Stage_

When Sam Braun did something, he did it right. He spared no expense. Whether it be building a new casino, or destroying an old one. The feeling was festive as he oversaw the organization of the Implosion Party. While he oversaw the party with an eye for detail, he watched the demolition team with one for the big picture, the big boom. Had he, his security, or the workers been paying attention, they might have noticed two of the charges had gone missing. Someone would notice, eventually, but by the time they had it would be far far too late.

* * *

Braun's party would be the biggest and the best, but it was not the only one, not by a long shot. Saints and Sinners, Vegas's latest hot spot was hosting an Implosion Party as well. It didn't have the same, perfect bird's eye-view as Braun's gig, but it had Harbinger, Rock's next big group. They were planning to do a show that would rival the implosion.

* * *

They didn't know just how much they would rival it. Gloved hands connected wires in the supply room of the club. The show was going to be simply explosive. Blue worker's coveralls had allowed access to the stage, another charge was laying in wait there, and here. No one would know what had happened. Chaos would sweep across the city once more.

No one took notice of another worker, everyone was so busy, it was just another nameless faceless blue collar putz going in and out of the club, getting ready for the big night.

* * *

Sam shot the studs on his cuffs. "It's too bad that Mugs can't make it tonight." Lily straightened his tie from behind. "She's busy. That bus-explosion has had her running like crazy." He shrugged into his jacket, "Well, I still think she should have let Lindsey come." Lily smacked his arm ever so slightly, "Absolutely not. She is too young to be at any of your parties, Sam." He smiled, "Ah well, I've got one beautiful woman at my side, I'm more than happy." She brushed an invisible crumb from his lapel, "You should be."

Lilly frowned at the mirror, the black dress was clingy and maybe a little too showy for a woman of her age. Catherine and Nancy had both said that it looked good on her, though.

She shook her head and linked her arm through his. "Come on, Mr. Braun, I think we have a party to go to."

* * *

A hissed curse broke through the silence of the room. The cheap watch had stopped. That was no good. Hands fumbled on a sleeve covered wrist. He pushed up the coveralls to reveal an old Swiss Army watch. He hated to part with it, but bringing Chaos, one sometimes had to make sacrifices. He pried the back off and started hooking things up. It wasn't exactly the same as the plans had called for, but it would do.

He slipped out of the room and the club, no one took notice of him. He passed the lines of people behind the velvet ropes of the clubs, all of them ready to go upstairs, to the rooftop. Like lambs to the slaughter.

Later he would sit down and type out a short email to his compatriots.

_What fools these mortals be. Watch the skies tonight, for the Gods of Vegas will leave their mark there. Chaos shall reign supreme once more and we will watch as everything falls to anarchy once again. From Chaos we came and to Chaos we must return. So sayeth the Gods of Vegas._

He sent the message to the flagged friends from his page and exited the website, carefully cleaning up his hard drive behind him. Then he took out the trash.


	21. Chapter XX: An Explosive Evening

_Chapter XX_

_An Explosive Evening_

With a busty blonde draped over his arm, he observed his kingdom from the DJ booth. The roof of Saints and Sinners was packed with people. Everyone from Hollywood A-lister Taylor Tate to Vegas's own heiresses, the Stephen twins, and a lot of other people who had enough money to make him want to know their names for at least a few hours. Those who couldn't afford the roof had crammed themselves into the club downstairs and still more waited in line at the sidewalk, hoping to get in.

The stage was set for Harbinger, the new flavor of the month, and the liquor was flowing. It was, for Chris Bezich, a perfect evening that was only going to get better. The dance floors, on both the more general and the VIP level, were packed. Sweaty bodies swayed and undulated to the DJ's techno beat. Flashing lights and the reflection of Vegas's world famous neon turned the rooftop into an almost surreal world where the euphoria of the drugs - he knew nothing about those of course - and sex was tangible in the air.

On cue, the music cut and the lights on stage went on and started to pulse to the rhythm of a frantically beating heart. The DJ handed him a mike and Chris smiled. "Saints and Sinners alike, I give you the hottest band in the country for an exclusive one night appearance. Here's HARBINGER!" His words faded out, but no one heard them; the screaming and cheers were too loud. The band came out for their first song, and Chris checked his watch. Five minutes until the Rampart imploded. He had to tip his hat to the old bastard. Sam Braun knew how to shake Vegas up, that was for sure.

He found his toe tapping along with the beat as he looked on.

The lead singer, Rayne, had the voice of a siren and the energy of a demon. Her signature scarlet red dred locks bounced and swung around her head as she moved around the stage. Behind her, the rest of the band played the pulsing, almost hypnotic, music that had a hot, almost sexual edge to it. The lights swung around, making everything seem as though it were barely controlled anarchy - like chaos that was about to spill and take over everything.

He could feel the energy, smell the emotional orgy in the air and his eyes turned to the Rampart. When the monolith of Old Vegas collapsed, this party would reach its wild crescendo and Saints and Sinners would secure it's place as _The_ Las Vegas night club.

The song had hit a screeching guitar solo and the countdown began

He grabbed the mike, eager for his voice to be the one that marked the end of an era. "It's coming down in, 5….4…3…2..."

The world exploded all around him before the first syllable of the 'one' left his lips.

* * *

"One!" They watched the Rampart crumble in on its self and let out a cheer. For Sam it was a bitter-sweet feeling, but he smiled at Lily, who touched the gold rimmed champagne flute to his and smiled, "To the end of an era." He shook his head, "No, to the beginning of a new one." 

What should have been a picture perfect moment was shattered by a woman's scream. Everyone turned and were horrified. An orange and red ball of fire had erupted from one of the smaller buildings far bellow them. Panic spread across the party. "THAT WAS SAINTS AND SINNERS!" "THERE WERE PEOPLE THERE!" "MY DAUGHTERS!" Pandemonium broke out; crystal shattered as it was dropped from limp hands. "SOMEONE CALL 911!"

* * *

There was something heavy on Faith Yale's stomach. At first she thought it was Sassy, her cat. She tried to lift her arms to shoo her away and was confused when she couldn't. Her memory came back in bits and pieces. This wasn't her studio apartment; she hadn't been asleep. She'd been at work and… her eyes snapped open wide as she looked around She tried to sit up; white hot pain ran through her stomach as she did. She knocked the table-top off of her and winced at the pain. She looked around, and terror began to break through her confusion. 

The stage was…it was simply gone. It was a gaping hole of twisted black metal and red and orange flames. The two big screens were ripped to shreds, but she could still see a weak flickering projection in the jagged remains. It was Rayne Bohanson's burnt and bloody face, a once lovely face, frozen in shock. It was a face, she realized, that wasn't attached to a body anymore.

Faith looked around, frantically searching for something, anything, that would make it all go away. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. Bodies, smoke, flame, destruction, so much destruction. People all around her were screaming, crying for their mothers, frantically searching, calling others' names. The bar was gone, it was demolished. Where were Lennox and Allen, the bartenders? God, where was Claudia, the other VIP waitress? She couldn't stand up, her head was spinning too much and her stomach was hurting. Why was it hurting so badly? She looked around, the railing behind her was broken, Chris would have to fix that, she decided. She looked at her white shirt, it was dirty and bloody. Fuck ,she didn't have the money for a new uniform yet. Where were her drink orders? Faith's thoughts swirled around in her head. She tried to stand up again, but found she couldn't. Her stomach hurt so badly. She pressed her hand to it and discovered why. A jagged piece of something was sticking out of it.

She started to scream. No one that could hear her shriek could discern it from the symphony of others.

* * *

The building top was in ruins and bellow, people were panicking, rushing to the doors, screaming. Smoke billowed in from the ceiling, flames greedily licked at the walls, causing equipment to spark and a hanging row of stage lights to come crashing down on the dance floor. People began running, trying to escape the building before they were trapped. 

Angelina Beck's high heel snapped and she lost her grip on her best friend Macy's hand. She stumbled and she fell. No one stopped to help her. No one even noticed she fell. They just kept coming and in a terror filled instance, she realized that they weren't going to go around her. No they went over her. Stiletto heels and men's dress shoes pounded into her back, over her arms and legs.

No one noticed when she started to scream, neither did they make note of when she stopped. Hers was just another panicked voice screaming for help.

* * *

Lily watched, her eyes wide and her face pale. All she could do was grip Sam's arm and watch. People had been blown off the building, debris had fallen in chunks, hitting the street, crushing cars and bystanders. The top of the building was burning and people were caught there. Some jumped, trying to escape the flames. Others clawed away from the fiery destruction. Still others screamed and clung to their injured companions. The brave few that were still standing, were batting at the raging fire, trying to help as best they could. 

Sam, Lily and all those at the Implosion Party watched in horror as what had probably been the bar erupted and new set of flames began to eat away at the building.

Sam heard Lily's whisper. "Was that from the Rampart?" Sam shook his head, numb. "I don't know. God, I don't know."


	22. Chapter XXI: Heroes

_Chapter XXI_

_Heroes_

Engine 52 and the Ladder Corps arrived first, screeching onto the scene within moments. They'd been nearby for the Implosion.

Each of the orange lined coats had a black band on the arm, marking the loss of Reece Martin. If his death weighed on their minds, none showed it. They pulled face masks on and checked oxygen tanks. The thick hoses were being unrolled, ready to douse the flames.

Capitan Andrew Corinth leapt from the cab and started barking orders immediately. "Ladders up to the top, hoses too. Go! Go! Go!"

* * *

While some went up the ladders, others went into the building. Joshua Lennon and Elisa Ivonava went in. People were still there, trying to push their way though the exits. Other firefighters, neither knew who exactly, were trying to herd them out safely.

Ivonava headed towards the second floor, a balcony area that was in danger of collapsing while Lennon ran towards the back service areas. He stopped short when he saw what was sitting in the store room. "He backed out of the room, screaming into his radio. "THERE'S A BOMB IN HERE! GET THE BOMB SQUAD NOW!"

Elisa heard the cry, but didn't pay it any mind. She kicked in the door to the women's bathroom. A woman in a cotton-candy pink dress that left little to the imagination was huddled in the corner, screaming. She didn't even bother explaining, she grabbed the other woman and threw over her shoulders.

* * *

Tommy Duncan hit the roof from the ladder and looked around. The fire raged here, and bodies were strewn around with smoldering debris. He unconsciously crossed himself and moved, trying to get people's attention.

He saw fingers clinging to the far edge and ran over. A young man, there was no way he could have been over twenty, clung to the edge. Down drafts from the intense heat of the fire whipped him around in the air. Tommy hit his knees, "Give me your hands!" he pulled the boy up and as soon as they were both on the roof, he saw the boy's face. It was pale with shock. "I couldn't hold on to her! She just slipped. I dropped her, Sweet Jesus, I dropped Jessica!"

Tommy gave the boy a shake. "The ladder, go, kid!" The boy just stood there. Tommy grabbed him and pulled him along. "GO!"

He heard a whimper and looked down. A young girl was half beneath twisted metal. He bent down and began to dig her out, hoping that he would be able to get her down the ladder without killing her. He pulled her broken form out from under the remains of destruction and cradled her like a child would a doll. He ran to the ladder. "I need some help!"

* * *

Ricky and Donna Black had rushed to the scene in their pick-up truck. They had pulled on their ever-present gear as they'd drove. Both husband and wife were members of the Clark County Volunteer Fire Department. They got out of the vehicle as soon as Ricky had thrown it into park. Both ran over to where the pumper trucks were getting ready to start spraying the building to put out the fire. Donna tucked her frizzy blonde hair under her helmet. "They're still people in there!" One of the others nodded, "It's do or die, there had to be a thousand people in that place, the longer we wait, the more we lose!" Another red engine pulled up and she looked over at it. "They have a bucket!" He nodded, "We need a team to go inside and start there!" She looked at the man, there was no name on his jacket, "I'm a Lieutenant, I'll lead the team." He nodded and handed her the heavy nozzle, "GOD SPEED!"

* * *

Oliver Jones, an off-duty Sheriff's deputy screeched to a halt and looked at his wife in the passenger seat and his three year old daughter in back. "I've got to go!" His wife pulled him in for a hard kiss. "GO!" He got out of the van and ran to the scene. Within minutes he was wading his way through a panicked mob, trying to calm people down so the firemen and paramedics could do their work.

* * *

Erica Moses blinked her tired eyes open when the taxi screeched to a halt. Her mouth dropped open and she threw a twenty at the driver. She wrenched the door open and started to run. She was tired from working triage in the ER all day, but she didn't feel the ache in her legs as she ran. The ER RN got to the scene and waded in, snapping on a pair of gloves that she had, thankfully, shoved into her scrub pockets. She got to the first victim she saw and recognized the paramedic. "What have we got, Hank!" 


	23. Chapter XXII: Aftermath

_Chapter XXII_

_Aftermath_

The fire was extinguished and the building stabilized, but the horrors were just beginning. Just as it had been the job of the firefighters and the paramedics to save, it was their job to salvage…to make sense of another tragedy.

The bomb squad, complete in their black protective armor, came out. One of them wearily looked at Grissom. "There's a dud in the back storage room for you guys. We completely deactivated and disarmed it, but it's otherwise untouched." It was, the CSIs realized, a God-sent miracle clue. It was, they knew, safe for them to go in. Grissom nodded, "Nicky, get that bomb, work it in place first, then you take it back to the lab. That's priority. I don't want you to take a bathroom break until you can disassemble, reassemble and recite the ingredients of that thing in Spanish in your sleep." He turned to the rest of the team, "Warrick, you're with Albert and his team on the roof." He turned to Catherine, "You're with David and his team inside the club." He turned to Greg, "Do the layout, sketch the scene, go to the surrounding buildings, canvas for video footage and angles." Greg nodded. Grissom looked at Sara, but she was already pulling on her gloves and grabbing a stack of evidence markers and her camera from her kit. "Leave no stone un-marked." He nodded.

The building stood before him, still smoldering in the night, the smell of death hung in the desert air. He could hear uniforms shouting to one another, moving around trying to talk to witnesses. He could see the detectives wading through everything, trying to get a clear understanding of what had happened.

An SUV emblazoned with a relatively new, but an easily recognizable government seal were allowed through the roadblocks. Sybil Hart stepped out of one of the passenger door and without a word to the nameless agent that was driving, shut the door behind her. The scene was a wreck, and destruction lay everywhere. 'No matter how many reports you read, or pictures you look at, you never became jaded, not to something like this.' She shoved her own thoughts back and looked around to see where everyone was and what they were doing wrong. The Search and Rescue team was combing the ruins, looking for bodies and holding out hope for survivors. Someone, a female that she had heard but not yet spotted, was running the cadets across the outer perimeter, which went for about half a block. From the commanding tone, which ordered and threatened bodily harm if said orders weren't followed to the tee, Sybil supposed that, that part of the evidence collecting was in competent hands.

She moved closer to the door, with her badge in plain view, the uniforms let her pass. Inside the club there were more people, more activity, more smoldering ruins and death. Here, it was obvious who was running the show. Catherine Willows moved around the club, taking photographs, and marking evidence. She kept a continuous string of conversation going with a young man in a coroner's uniform. Something about a trampled woman. Though she was loath to admit it, Catherine had things in hand. There was a time and place for everything, and right now she knew to leave the other woman to her work.

Upstairs, on the roof, was where the action had taken place. So that was where she would have to go. She frowned and looked around. From the corner of the room Catherine's annoyed voice called out. "The only way to the top is by helicopter, the elevator and staircase was destroyed." Before Sybil could reply, Catherine had gone back to work.

Unperturbed, she returned to the outside and saw that yes, there was a helicopter and its sole purpose was, apparently, to transport workers from the ground to the rooftop. One of the younger CSIs - his vest read 'Sanders' - had a headset on, and was talking to the pilot. A sketch of the scene was clipped to a board that rested on his lap. He had a digital camera too, looking at what appeared to be a 'before' shot of the rooftop. When they evened out to let her off and take on another body bag, Sybil swallowed a goodly amount of bile. What had once been a posh party now lay in ruins. Arson specialists worked around the pit that had been ground zero and there was yet another CSI working here. Someone, probably Search and Rescue, had set up emergency lights and in the dim shadows beyond them, stood Gilbert Grissom. He was just observing. Those who didn't know him well might have thought he wasn't working at all.

"Your team is just about everywhere." He nodded, but said nothing, his intense eyes were going over the scene again and again, playing it out in his head, getting a feel for what had happened. "You didn't call me, Gilbert." Her voice carried just a hint of annoyance in it." He only shrugged, "There were more important calls to make, Sybil. You still got here." She scowled at him, but let the comment pass, "This was a bombing." He nodded, "The Bomb Squad recovered a second, inert, bomb. Nick took it to the lab and is analyzing it." She scowled, "You should have left it in place, my guys would have taken care of it." Grissom didn't speak for a moment, she saw his breath puffing into a fine white mist as he breathed, "Nick Stokes knows what he's doing." He tilted his head at something and began walking towards the center of the building. The rooftop was actually two connected buildings, a larger and a smaller. The smaller building was where the stage had been and where the bomb had gone off. Whatever it had been that had caught his attention, he had disregarded it and moved on. He was cutting a path through the destruction, making note of evidence markers and flags. He bent down and moved what had been a table.

Sybil snapped on a latex glove and squatted down beside him. "What is it?" He sighed and moved the table to the side so she could see. It was an arm, raggedly severed midway to the elbow. Black and red bracelets decorated the wrist and there was a silver ring on each hand. It was a young woman's hand. Grissom put a yellow numbered card down beside and lifted his camera. He snapped two photos, the powerful night flash hurt her eyes as she watched. She sighed, "How many so far, Gilbert?" His voice held no obvious emotion, but deep underneath the stoicism was a great sadness, "I've lost count."


	24. Chapter XXIII: De Ja Vous

_Chapter XXIII_

_De Ja Vous All Over Again_

Night gave way to day and day found them in the lab. The dayshift had taken over in the field and they processed the evidence they already had. Nick Stokes was holed up with the Ballistics Tech and a representative from the Bomb Squad, studying every aspect of the dead bomb they'd found

Kyle Henderson, formerly of the Navy, presently of the LVPD Bomb Squad, looked at the intact sticks of dynamite. The CSI, Nick Stokes, handed him a sheet, "I've traced the serial numbers, it goes back to a case that was bought by Anderson & Co. Demolition." Henderson scowled, "Which took down the Rampart." Nick sighed, "Which is, well was, owned by Sam Braun."

Nick understood the shooting the messenger thing as he sent Catherine a text.

* * *

Sara Sidle was in one of the smaller layout rooms. To say she was caught up in what she was doing was the understament of the century. A color coded chart lay in front of her, showing where debris had landed, a pattern of destruction that zeroed in on where the explosion had happened. Set up on the counter was a laptop that was running simulations of what had happened. A notebook beside her was full of scrawled notes and what looked like mathematical formulas. She hmm-ed and turned to the laptop. After a moment, she turned back and made a note before putting more colored dots on the sheet in front of her. She bent over the table, trying to reach something. Her shirt rode up a few inches showing pale skin and a livid scar. 

A scar, Sybil mused, that had been a parting gift from one of Vegas's most notorious serial killers of all time, Madison Daniels. The kid, she decided, had balls. Big brass ones, and according to the reading she'd done, the brains to back it up. She wanted, no Sybil needed, to know more.

She offered no greeting to the younger woman; she didn't even inquire into her work. She stepped into the lab, "I've read your file, you know." She watched the woman go stiff and still. "Good for you."

Sybil went around so she could see the other woman's face. "Valedictorian at Harvard, well on your way to being the darling of academia, but then you left it all behind and joined the San Francisco Crime Lab." Sara only shrugged, "So you Googled me. It's nice to know I have fans." Sybil shook her head, "You go full-on at everything you do. You turned down an internship with Doctor Samantha Carter, the ultimate dream job for any physics student, for a job as a coroner's assistant." Sara moved to her notes and wrote something down, but the lines were heavier then before. She was baring down on the pen, trying to hide her emotions, but they still came through in the smallest actions. She shrugged, "I love my job." Sybil nodded, "And it shows. Had you stayed in California, you would have probably been running a shift by now, or had you gone with the FBI when they offered you a position, you could have had my job." She paused and looked around, "Yet you're here. Playing Gilbert Grissom's lap-dog."

Sidle finally looked up from her work, an eyebrow raised, "I don't see where this is going." Sybil smiled, "Oh, nowhere, really, I'm just curious. By all accounts, you're Gilbert's star pupil with a solid record. Any crime lab in America would jump through hoops to add you to their team." Sara rolled her eyes, "I work with him, we're friends, but we aren't lovers." Sara turned to face her fully, "That's what this is about, isn't it?"

Like flipping a switch, Sybil shut down, "What are you working on here, Sidle?" Sara shifted her attention with the smooth skill of a NASCAR driver on a straight-away. There was, though a moment of satisfaction. Sybil might have been good, but Sara had spent years dealing with Catherine, Grissom, and Sofia and she had become an expert at hiding personal feelings, be they positive or negative, under a professional mask. "By measuring the pattern of debris that was scattered and doing some standard equations I can pinpoint the exact location of the bomb." Sybil crossed her Armani covered arms, "I don't think that's much of a mystery." The CSIs shoulders went stiff again, "It could be important, especially since Nick traced the second bomb." Sybil raised a brow, "Oh really?" Sara nodded distractedly as she scribbled down more numbers. "Yeah, Catherine's following up on it."

* * *

Catherine paced the plush penthouse that Sam Braun, her father, called home. "Sam, please tell me something. We've got two dynamite charges that were supposed to be in the Rampart in Saints and Sinners. Tell me something here." There was a sigh, "Mugs, I don't know. Have you talked to the demolition team?" Catherine wheeled around on her heel. "Of course we have! Detectives Brass and Curtis are all over that. I need to know if you had anything to do with this, now." There was a moment of silence as Sam stood. "Are you accusing me of something, Catherine?" She ran her hands through her hair, "No, Sam, it's just…we have to cover all of the bases." He frowned, "And I'm a base." 

She sighed, "Unfortunately, yes, yes you are a base. One that I have to cover." She would kill for a drink of the top-of-the-line scotch she knew he had in the liquor cabinet, but she couldn't, so she continued to pace. "The entire lab is walking a fine line and we've got Homeland Security up our asses…I'm- we're just doing our jobs."

* * *

Greg looked at the man who was half hidden under a sheet. Familiarity buzzed at him. He'd seen this guy before. He looked up at Doc Robbins, the crutch-wielding ME was in the middle of something. He took the hair sample and started fingerprinting. Midway through the thumb print, it hit him. "Oh damn." It was Chris Bezitch, otherwise known as Ass-Hole-Chris, the club owner who had taken Catherine for a hard and fast ride. Greg pulled the sheet over the man's face. "Oh damn." He'd heard from Nick that Catherine was already having to talk to Sam. He didn't want to be to the one to have to tell her that her old boyfriend had been amongst the dead. He momentarily entertained the idea of begging Warrick to do it for him. She'd never hurt him, well maybe in a Lady Heather sort of way, but she wouldn't, oh say, shoot him.

* * *

Rocky Martinez, foreman and site supervisor for Anderson & Co. Demolition shrugged one massive shoulder. "My guys put ten charges in, at key places that were clearly marked. The collapse was flawless, your bomb squad guys okayed it and everything." Captain Jim Brass nodded, "We got that. What we don't get is the part where two of your charges end up over at Saints and Sinners." The man glared at Brass, "Are you saying one of my guys did this?" As Martinez and his guys were all Union, Brass knew he was playing with fire. "Did I say that?" He looked to Sofia, and she shook her head. "Look, all we're only trying to figure out how it happened, you know." She leaned on her elbows, giving the man a generous look of the cleavage that the undone top button of her shirt showed. "Did you bring extra charges to the site?" He nodded, "Yeah, five extra charges, that's standard." 

Sofia grit her teeth and nodded all while leaning forward, giving the guy something to 'help' his memory along. She hated this part of the work, but it got what they needed out of him. "And no one checked the charges all day?" He shrugged, "They were in the lock box and the site was secure. Mr. Braun had guys watching it; no one suspicious got in."

An hour later they cut him lose and Jim sighed. "No one suspicious." Sofia nodded and rubbed at her still-aching shoulder muscles. "They probably let in everyone with a hard hat and dirty jeans on that site. Which doesn't help us at all." Brass shrugged, "Did Nick get any prints off of the dynamite?" She shrugged, "They all match the Union ten cards we were given. Even if it was one of the demo guys, there is a perfectly logical explanation for their prints being on there. They blow things up for a living. It's like the ultimate guy dream." Her voice carried just a hint of frustration, but no real anger. "Trace and DNA are running with the wrist watch recovered from the bomb, they're hoping the perp was dumb enough to have worn it before turning it into a weapon of mass destruction."

Jim grinned, "People have done dumber things."

Author's Note: As everything I know about Physics wouldn't fill up a thimble, I cheated. Samantha Carter is borrowed from _Star Gate SG1_, which does not belong to me.

While I'm rambling here, I'd like to throw a thanks out to Immi, who's kept me pumped and just a little bit full of myself with a string of awesome reviews.

As we head into the midpoint of the story, I'd love to hear some feedback from everyone!


	25. Chapter XXIV: Click Me

_Chapter XXIV_

_Click Me_

Abby Fitzgerald got home from school and went straight to her bedroom. She ignored all attempts on her Mother's part to have a conversation and locked the door. She dumped her school bag on the floor and went to her computer. The laptop hummed to life and she dragged it with her to the bed. She opened up the internet and checked her email, disregarding spam and porno offers, setting aside newsletters and group emails for later. Her personal messages were also set aside for later perusal. There were more important things to do first, like check her MySpace.

She tapped her Converse-clad feet along to the Green Day pouring out of her iPod and waited for her profile to load up. The new friend requests popped up and made her grin. She picked through them, looking at each before hitting the accept or reject button. GD990 got the 'okay', anyone who liked vintage shows like _Salute Your Shorts _and the hipper MTV hits like _My Super Sweet Sixteen _had to be pretty cool. LoneGunman341, however, got a big fat 'reject'. Creepy Shane could change his user name a million times, but he would always get a no. She couldn't stand him in real life, why would she want to mess with him on MySpace. She clicked around a bit, took a survey. Apparently if she were a sweater, she'd be navy blue turtleneck. She was about finished when something caught her eye. A new blog entry had gone through one of her friends. She shrugged and decided to read it. Sometimes you could learn interesting stuff, and if it was dumb, well relief from stupidity was only a click away.

Abby clicked the link and waited for the new page to load up. The next song, by Panic at the Disco, came up and she was mumbling along with the words as the page loaded. Her over-tweezed and over penciled eyebrows jumped to her bleach-blonde hairline. Her stomach rolled and soured at what she saw. The picture of a bomb in a backpack and a Goth girl with a big red X through it. Bellow it was the picture of the fiery bus crash. She clicked another link, randomly, needing to get away from the destruction. The next page was no better. It featured a grainy video that showed the explosion at Saints and Sinners. She threw the laptop back against the pillows and backed away from it. When she fell off the bed and hit the floor she got to her feet. The images on her computer, bloody and brutal, made her face go white. "MOM!" She unlocked her door and ran. "MOMMA!"

* * *

Liz Fitzgerald heard her daughter scream but before she could get away from the dishwasher she was loading, her daughter had made the trip from her room to the kitchen. She was about to ask what was wrong, but found her arms full of a sobbing teenager. 

"Abby? Abby, sweetheart, what's the matter?" The girl was sobbing, hiccupping and gasping. Recognizing the signs of an asthma attack coming, she gave the girl a little shake, "Abigail, breathe, big deep breaths, now. Her mother's tone broke through the panic and Abby started to take deep breaths. Her words were jumbled and they tumbled together. Liz pieced it together and went to look at her daughter's laptop. Abby refused to go back and look at it with her. What she saw made Liz want to vomit, she almost did. How could a website let people put that up? People had _died_. She fumbled for the phone, she had to warn people before other children saw this. Children who had family that had been killed. She dialed the operator. "Yes, I need the number for Channel 5."

* * *

Maria Rymer laid down the phone and thanked her lucky stars individually and by name. She was going to be the one to break the story, again. Katie Couric move over, Maria Rymer was on her way to fame, glory and a network job. 

She dialed the LVPD. "I need to speak to Detective Sofia Curtis. No, I think she'll want to hear this." There were a series of clicks and beeps and then the detective's husky and obviously annoyed voice came over the line.

"Curtis."

Maria smiled, "Get a statement ready by the evening news, Curtis. Oh and I suggest you get a computer expert lined up, I'm sending you a big fat lead." She hung up before the detective could respond.

Author's Note: Say it with me folks, you know the words. I do not own MySpace. All aspects and facets of said website and the services it offers are used in a fictional manner here. Any screen names, liknesses or any other link to said site is completly coincidental and no harm is intended. In other words, please don't sue me.

On a more personal note, I do not have a MySpace account. So any specifics of using and or accessing the site are things I've heard my sister yammer about.


	26. Chapter XXV: Whats a Blog?

_Chapter XXV_

_What's a Blog?_

Though Sofia was being rather close-mouthed about the subject, the woman had not been. "How can you people let something like this get out on the internet?" Sara sighed, "Ma'am, the internet is still protected by the First Amendment." She had actually hoped Sybil Hart would barge in and take the woman off her hands.

* * *

Now, an hour later, she, Sofia and Archie were huddled around one of the computers. The Asian man was clicking in commands and explained as he went. "MySpace is pretty much a cyber club. There are cliques and popular crowds, everything is connected. It's like that old saying, everyone is connected to everyone else by six degrees. Everyone is connected to everyone else on MySpace by a few keystrokes." Sara nodded, "Okay, I get profiles and pictures, but what is a blog?" Sofia chuckled, "My little shut-in. It's like an online diary, where kids go to rant about their parents and school and life." Sara rolled her eyes, "Why would anyone announce all their innermost feelings online to a bunch of people they'll never meet?" Archie grinned, "Not all of us take out our frustrations on innocent dummies." He was referring, of course, to an experiment she'd helped Nick and Greg with. She shrugged, "Never mind, what can you tell me about this site?" He frowned, "Not much, MySpace is already involved in multiple suits about privacy and filtering. It'll take forever to go through the red tape to talk to an actual human and then they'll lawyer up so fast it'll make your head spin." The screen was all black with the exception of white gothic-style text and pictures. 

Both she and Sofia were leaning over his left shoulder. They were close, wavy dark hair and rain straight light hair mixed together in an attractive fall and one wouldn't have been able to fit a sheet of printer paper between their bodies. God, he loved his job.

Sofia frowned, "That girl, the one labeled as HolyPandora, I know her face." Sara nodded, "She's one of the bus victims. Gina Marshall, she was twenty. An art student at WLVU." Sofia found Sara's hand and gave it a quick squeeze, "He's celebrating her death. It says right there, "I gave her a taste of the Hell she is condemned to forever." Sofia shuddered. "We are dealing with a sick, sick puppy." Archie sighed, "It gets worse. His page, this is EmperorGoV, connects to another page. PrinceGoV has video, from a cell phone I think, of the Saints and Sinners Explosion." Sofia nodded, "Is he celebrating anyone's death?" Archie nodded, "Chris Bezich. According to his blog, the club owner slept with his mother and then left her. The mother later went on a bender and died driving drunk." Sara hissed through her teeth. "Chris Bi-zitch. Yeah, he's slime, can't say I'm sorry to see him go myself." Both Archie and Sofia paused to look at her and she shrugged, "What?" Sofia frowned, "These pictures here, is that the watch we got off the bomb?" Archie enlarged the picture of the bomb. Sara squinted at it, "I'd need Nick to be sure, but it's definitely a visual match."

Sofia hmmed and then stepped back from the screen. "Well, I've got a friend in the DA's Office who can start trying to get through to these MySpace People." Archie nodded, "Well, in the mean time, all I can do is run a search on their friends and contacts. It's online so I don't need a warrant." He shook his head and grunted, "I'm going to need serious therapy after going through all this."

Sara nodded, "We're going to need help." Archie chuckled, "That's what I just said." Sara moved closer to the big screen that had the website projected onto it. "No, I mean with this." Archie shrugged, "I could call the day tech, but…" He looked at the woman, "That's not what you meant, is it?"

* * *

With her files piled on her lap, Cami decided that she'd been around Sara far too long. It was a Friday night and she was cuddled up with her work. She took a moment to chuckle at herself and put the files on the coffee table. She was long past due for a cup of tea and maybe a cookie or two. She got to the kitchen and decided that since it was Friday night and she was alone, she would forget calories and gorge herself. She'd curse herself later, like when she added a mile or two to her morning run, but right now it sounded pretty good. 

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection on the stovetop. The sleeves of her battered Harvard sweatshirt were pushed to her elbows and the jeans she had on probably belonged in the dump. The Sea Hawks hat covering her hair wasn't helping the image all that much. Cambridge Parker, Sex Goddess, she was not, at least not right now.

She was boiling the water for tea, and wondering if she should trade it in for a nice glass of wine, when the phone rang. Puzzled, she went to answer it. Most of the people she knew in Vegas were hard at work right about now. If it was her mother, she would have that glass of wine. One of her eyebrows arched when she read the ID. She picked up the cordless phone, "Shouldn't you be catching the bad guys, Wild Woman?"

The answer on the other side of the phone wasn't expected, but she wasn't surprised. She'd long ago grown used to the way the Sidle mind functioned.

"Do you know what a blog is?" Cami boosted herself up onto the counter and idly munched on an Oreo. "Online diary, it's all the rage right now. If I had a dollar for every time I've had a patient say MySpace I'd be able to retire a very rich woman." There was a snort on the other side of the phone, "You're already rich, Parker." Cami swallowed her Oreo. "Bite me, Sidle." She crossed her legs under her. "Now I pulled myself away from my wild Friday night to talk to you, so say something interesting." Sara chuckled on the other end of the line. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything important. I know how religious you are about your tea and those cookies that you'll be running off come Monday." Because Sara was right, the phone got an eyeful of chewed up cookies. "You don't know, I might have company that is begging me to come back to bed." This time Sara did laugh, for the first time in a few long hard days, Cami was sure. "Well, pause whatever porno you're watching, please. This is serious." Cami unfolded her legs and tried to remember where she'd put her glasses. They were perched on the brim of her hat. She put them on and started back to the living room for a paper and pen, tea forgotten. "What's up?"

Author's Note: Whee! This was the original Cami scene. The first one that ever came to mind. It was sketched out before she was added to 'Demons of Vegas'.

I've not stopped working on 'Gods' but a sudden attack by my fluff muse did put a dent in my time. I'm not sure if I'll post the result...it's a bit wierd and I'm still not sure if I like it. Never mind, rambling.

Yes I know the site's acting a bit screwy, especially with alerts and the like.


	27. Chapter XXVI: Dominating Vegas

_Chapter XXVI_

_Dominating Vegas_

She waited for him. It was a change, she knew, from their usual dance. He had been the one that had waited outside of her Dominion. For hours sometimes, he would sit in his SUV, just watching. Catherine said he was reserved, perhaps even intimidated by her. Even if she had thought the other woman was right, it was not a good excuse.

Her life had changed, radically changed, in the last few years. It had started, she supposed when she and Zoe had fallen out. No, no, she could admit it had all started before that. It had started the first time she'd heard the words "Las Vegas Crime Lab". She was not a woman given to believing in love at first sight. Lust, absolutely. Interest, most definitely. But not love. There had been something, though, a spark between them the very first time they met. She'd seldom felt such a pull towards one person and never had it been as strong and quick as it had been to him.

Gilbert Grissom had awakened something in her. Something she'd thought had been long dead. Interest, maybe. She'd wanted to know him. She'd wanted to dive deep beneath the scientist mask he wore. She wanted to burst through the walls he hid behind. Then he'd said 'Stop'. That was something she understood, and understood well. He'd betrayed her on a very basic level. He'd questioned her word, her innocence, her very character. He'd hurt her. She could admit that, if only to herself.

Then there had been that night. That terrible night. The pain had been unimaginable. She knew pain, understood its effects on the psyche and the flesh. Sometimes it excited her, it always interested her. The way people would thrive on receiving and giving punishment. It was her way of life, the way she defined almost everything she did. Zoe's death had not been pain, not in the simple way she'd once defined pain. It had been as close to death as a person could come and still have a beating heart. There was a void now, an empty place inside of her. She would never again be a whole person. She would never be able to look at her child and see pieces of herself there. She would never again be Heather, mother of Zoe. She feared that as the months stretched into years she would never even know if she was Heather, grandmother. She was Lady Heather, Mistress of Vegas, and that was all she had left to cling to.

There had been sadness, but first had come rage. Anger so overpowering that even her most loyal and loving slaves had quivered in fear of it. She'd been blinded by need to destroy that which had taken her daughter from her. She'd gave everything, even her body, to avenge Zoe. In the end, it had come down to the monster that had tortured her baby. Tortured in ways that she had never even fathomed. He had been inhuman, not worthy of the effort of the police. She had taken her revenge in her own way. With her whip. The comfortable, custom made handle of her personal whip had felt good in her hands. It had felt right. She'd drawn his blood, had watched as it fell to the parched desert floor. She'd watched through tear-filled eyes. She would have beat him to death, she knew and accepted that. She would have fallen to his despicable level, become what she hated with all of her being…had it not been for him.

Gilbert Grissom had stopped her that night. He had stopped her and for that she was eternally grateful. He had taken her into his arms and had held her when she needed something, anything, to hold on to. Even now she knew that it had felt right. He had taken her home. She knew that she was supposed to have been taken to the precinct or perhaps his Crime Lab, but he had taken her home, to her Dominion.

He had treated her as she would have treated her most favored slave, gently, almost lovingly. He'd laid her down on her bed and had spoke in low and soothing tones until she'd fallen asleep. She wasn't sure how long he'd stayed after that. When she woke up in the morning, he'd been gone.

After that, she didn't withdraw. She tried to find help. She'd eventually found the help she'd needed. She'd made her own. 'Never Forget' had saved her. Just as she'd told Catherine, she helped the others and they helped her.

It was not, however, enough. Something was still missing. She still needed something. It was not like her, to need. Need was for lesser people, for the peons who groveled at her feet. The naughty boys and girls of Vegas needed. She should not need, but she did.

She watched as they started to float out of the Lab. The sun chased them home. Many she did not know. Others she did. There was the Texan, Nick, he was reserved. She was sure that a long session with Melinda would change his tune about her Dominion. Then came two others, Greg and Warrick. Both were submissive already, though neither realized it.

Behind them came Catherine Willows. She'd said it before and she'd say it again, Catherine had everything it took to make a great Dominatrix. She was strong, willful and had that aura about her. The sort of aura that made people want to submit to her. Oh, the things she could teach Catherine. The woman already had those who were submissive to her. Warrick, of course, was obviously dedicated to her. He, however, wasn't the only one.

From a side door came two more figures, women. Sofia Curtis and Sara Sidle. A strong image had come to her mind when she'd first met the two. Sofia was obviously the dominant of the pair, and she defended Sara as her own. On a not-so-conscious level, it was obvious that she was marking her territory. Claiming the other woman as hers and hers alone. Especially when Catherine was around.

Heather prided herself on being able to read people almost immediately. The image that had struck her was that of Catherine punishing Sofia harshly as Sara watched on. Punishing Sofia for lying claim to what she had wanted. Whether it was true or even possible, she did not know. It was a sure bet, though, had Catherine ever taken her up on her offer, she would have chosen a leggy brunette as her submissive.

Sara, on the other hand, would not give in willingly to anyone. She was too strong to be completely submissive. She was sure that others had tried to bend Sara to their will, and had lost her because of their efforts. There were conflicting signals and motions coming from the woman. She was a mystery, much like the man who'd taught her.

Gilbert Grissom came out by himself. He was flanked only by rays of early morning sunlight. He chose to be alone, she knew. He chose it as consciously as he chose his shirt when he dressed. She knew he knew she was there. She drove her car instead of her large SUV. Here her truck would be lost in a sea of look-a-likes. It was hard to miss her sleek and powerful Italian import.

She watched him hesitate. He paused, as if deciding between going wherever she chose to take him and going his own way. It was a battle that was fought in the souls of all men at one time or another. He had planted his foot and was about to start in her direction when another woman came out of the doors.

This woman she did not know but she recognized the air that the woman had. This woman wore power like a mantle around her. She was powerful. Lady Heather found herself watching the two interact.

The blonde stepped into his space and Heather found her manicured nails digging into the supple leather of the gearshift and the steering wheel. A sudden and unbidden jolt of possessiveness streaked through her and she quickly squashed it. Gil stepped back, putting space back between them. Though his movements weren't steady. There was a twinge of reluctance in his stride; there was a shadow of something there. Heather watched and realized, that this was the woman who'd last held Gilbert Grissom's heart.

The blonde placed her hand on Gil's shoulder only to have him shrug away from her and start in her direction, more definitely this time. Whether it was his true want, to be with her, or only a step away from the other woman, she didn't know. It wasn't a victory, yet. Not until he truly made his decision. She couldn't hear their words and they were facing each other so she could not read their lips.

She was an expert, however, at reading body language. Hadn't Gilbert told her that she was an anthropologist? She watched them. His usually reserved body language became even stiffer and more defensive. She'd hurt him once and he would not allow her to do it again. She was aggressive, she wanted him and wouldn't take no for an answer. There was attraction, mutual attraction between them, but the more she fed on it, the more he moved away from it.

He became calmer as the woman became angrier, and then he turned and his stormy blue eyes locked with Heather's own emerald ones. He smiled and she tilted her head, inviting him to join her. He did.

She felt the burn of the other woman's stare as Gilbert opened the door. She smirked and was suddenly highly pleased with her decision to leave the top down on her car. Everyone knew they'd been observed, and now everyone, including the blonde knew that he had come to her.

He settled down in the passenger seat and turned to her. "To what do I owe this honor?" She graced him with a smile. "I thought we might visit the theater." He quirked an eyebrow, "The theatre?" She started the powerful engine, "Only if you want to."

Grissom watched as Heather operated the powerful car. She shifted with a practiced and almost sensual ease. "I won't say stop."

Author's Note: Just a little glimpse into Lady Heather's mind. There will be more later, I assure you. There will also be more Grissom. I know I've been spouting off about Grissom being a central charecter this time and he will be...eventually.

Before anyone asks: What Lady Heather sees and infers is not nessecarily what others do. Sometimes she knows things about you that you have yet to realize about yourself. It's what she does for a living and she's good at it.

Now, due to constraints on time, and access to the internet that are all due to moving into my new place, the updates from here on out will be very spotty. ducks and covers I thought I'd have 'Gods' wrapped up before we moved, but things sort of all happened at once. I'm not very pleased with pausing in the middle myself, actually, but it's not actually a by-choice deal right now.

Thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews so far!


	28. Chapter XXVII: Couch Time

_Chapter XXVII_

_Couch Time_

She was glad it was Saturday. She just couldn't take patients today. The scenes laid out on her laptop. She just wanted to close the machine and forget what she's seen. She didn't, though. Cambridge Parker was a lot of things, but a coward wasn't one of them. She would do the job she'd said she would do, even if it was darker and deeper then some of her worst nightmares.

She wondered if anyone had ever used a website or a blog to put together a psychological profile. She doubted it. If the subject material wasn't so gut-wrenching, she might have considered writing a paper on it. As it was, she wanted to get this over with, quickly, as much for her own sake as for the residents of Las Vegas. She looked at her notes,

_Subject has chosen a black and white motif. While this is not especially significant, it does show an understanding of basic differences. One could conjecture that the use of black and white is a nod to the sharp divide between right and wrong. The lack of gray shows that this person is very two dimensional, seeing only a right way - his way - and the wrong way, everyone else's. Of course, the fucked up bastard could just think it's pretty._

She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. She was thankful that the only other person who would be able to make out her handwriting and understand her short hand was Sara. Cami frowned and continued writing as she scrolled down the page.

_Whoever wrote this blog is educated. He graduated high school and is pursuing a college degree, if he hasn't already gotten it. This is portrayed in the exactness of the language and the lack of common grammatical mistakes. The use of 'than' instead of 'then' for example. _

_Another aspect of note is the fact that he has capitalized Chaos more then once. For a writer so exact in everything else, it is unusual for such a mistake to occur. There fore it is not a mistake, but a deliberate action. As aforementioned, the writer is educated and has a solid knowledge of mythology. Specifically creation myths as he is alluding to the Greek God Chaos._

_The presence of a picture and reference to a specific victim of the Bus 27 explosion leads me to believe that while his acts are acts of Terrorism, the intent was not. He targeted HolyPandora, which is another nod to mythology in itself. He stalked her. He knew her usual routes and patterns, he memorized her routine. He knew she would be on that bus at that time and used it to his advantage. At the core of this tragedy, I think there is a simple motive. _

_This woman, Gina Marshall, rejected him more than once. This murder, a premeditated act, was rooted in revenge. He was lashing back at her and didn't care how many other people were hurt in the process. No, that's not right; his praise to Chaos the God indicates that he DID care how many he hurt. He wanted as many to suffer as possible. He is not a sadomaschocist, he didn't get off on their pain. He's probably, however, really enjoying the press-feeding frenzy. The riot at the grocery store probably didn't help either. When will assholes learn that violence only perpetuates more violence? Pricks like the guys who beat up those kids are the reason America is getting a bad name for itself._

She stretched and sighed.

_The suspect is a white male, approximately eighteen to twenty-six years of age. While there is no picture of his entire body or face on the site, once can guess that he is most likely pale and not outwardly attractive. Not to say that he is ugly, he could be plain or very skinny, or perhaps over weight. He spends most of his time on the computer and most likely has most, if not all, of his friends on the Internet. I like the Internet as much as the next person, but the idea that all the whackos are now connected is a little bit unsettling._

If only, Cami mused, he was the only whacko she was dealing with.

_The second explosion which happened at Saints and Sinners was done by a different culprit. Connected to the first, to be sure, but enacted by a different set of hands. The second web page belongs to a younger, ballsier person. Taking a cue from the first bomber, named EmperorGoV, this is PrinceGoV. That alone indicates a younger person, a follower to the Emperor's leader. Grammatical and spelling mistakes, along with a heavy reliance on internet lingo, such as 'gtg' and 'omg', makes it clear that this bomber is young, approximately seventeen and no older than twenty. The use of an 'avatar' on this blog as opposed to the absence on the other, shows a need to identify. The fact that the avatar is an inverted pentagram done in what looks like blood is, while disturbing, not an indication of true Satanism. This bomber is confused, trying to find focus and a definition for himself. Unfortunately, a terrible event gave him focus. Apparently his target, Chris Bezich, slept with his mother and later dumped her. (I need to check on Catherine after that. Linds mentioned this guy…not the point right now) This triggered a drinking binge which led said mother to drunkenly drive into a semi. This defense of his mother, taking the life of the man who drove her to drink and therefore lose her own life, shows a strong connection to the mother, which goes more to support the fact that this bomber is young, perhaps a minor._

_He further shows his youth and inexperience by displaying pictures of the bombs that he planted on the site. The video is a chilling touch meant to emphasize what happened. It is a different version of a small child showing off a good report card. He wants accolades for what he did. He even gloats that he killed the Hollywood Party Girl Taylor Tate. The most disgusting part is the praise he is getting.. 'Good jobs' and 'I hated her anyways' sent to his blog. _

_What ever happened to Dungeons and Dragons? Didn't unhappy geeks and unpopular kids get together and watch Star Wars and argue about it? Dress up and hit eachother with sticks with padding duct-taped to them…what happened to that? At least they kept their bat-shit-craziness to themselves and away from the general population. That sounds awful. Then again people come here to get married dressed up as Klingnons with Elvis presiding over the ceremony. Vegas is so weird. That's professional sounding, oh yes, I went to Harvard to write up briefs like this, Mr. Grissom._

Cami rubbed at the tension in her forehead and the crick in her neck as she finished up her notes with a few last, very chilling lines.

_The worst part is the fact that there are more of these self-proclaimed Gods of Vegas. While none have adopted any names of traditional Gods, or even the images of a Judeo-Christian Anti-Christ, they identify themselves by rank and gender._

_Princess, Duke, Knight, Lady and hordes of others. Do they all have bombings planned? At the moment that is unknown. From a glance, they all live in Vegas and they all know each other. If these budding little sociopaths, and yes that is the term I'm giving them damn it, aren't caught soon there will be more chaos and death. I need a drink._

Cami started to type her notes, leaving out more colorful phrases and personal thoughts. She needed to give this to Sara. When they cut through the red tape with MySpace, they would need it to help with prosecution and when she sat down to write a full profile and evaluation it would only help to have this base to start from.

* * *

The lab wasn't quiet, it never was in her experience. There was always something beeping or whirring or someone was firing a gun or tearing something apart in the garage. Sara had once tried to explain it, but she'd not listened. She didn't really want to know about the work they did. They dealt in death; she liked to think she dealt in life. 

She'd dressed with more confidence than she really had. They expected a full profile, something to tell them where to go, what to do, what they were dealing with. She didn't have that. She had a rough outline, a sketchy idea of what could be. The dark green silk shirt brought out her eyes and the earthy tone of her chocolate brown suit flattered her. The high heels she'd put on added to her already impressive height and the subtle touches of perfume hid any flaw, real or imagined, from the world. As a psychologist, she knew she was projecting a front. She was over-doing the physical to make up for the fact that her actual findings were less than she would like. Fine, and she had always like the way this particular skirt hugged her curves, sue her.

She thanked whoever it was who had designed the jumbled together labs when she passed the DNA lab on the way to the Conference room. She paused, briefcase in hand, and looked. She could see a lone woman working inside of the aquarium-esque lab. Cami had no idea what she was doing, but she was sure it was important. She didn't remember making a conscious decision to enter the lab, but she knew that the conscious, according to Freud, was highly over-rated.

* * *

Wendy didn't hear her come in; she hadn't even realized some one else was in the lab with her until hands went over her eyes. She wasn't sure which was more embarrassing, the fact that someone had snuck up on her, or the squeak she'd let escape. She carefully put the watch she'd been working with back on the table and lifted her glove-covered hands to see who had her. "Nick?" The chuckle was far more feminine then Nick or even Greg. Her hands moved across the hands atop her eyes, trying to figure out who it was. She almost guessed Catherine, but if it had been Catherine those hands would have been placed somewhere further south. The presence of a slim ring and a bracelet put both Sara and Sofia out of the running, though neither woman had really been in it to begin with. The woman bent closer and Wendy could feel her breath going across her ear. "Guess again." 

A jolt went down Wendy's spine and her mouth was suddenly dry. The subtly clipped accent gave it away. It spoke of Private schools and tutors laced with just a hint of Boston Pubs and Seattle Clubs. "Cambridge." The hands were lifted from her eyes and Wendy found herself caught in a human cage of arms. "Hi." Wendy swallowed, "Hey." She damned the butterflies that were having a party in her stomach and whatever power it was that made her hands want to shake. In short, she damned Cambridge Parker. She leaned close, too close. The other woman's short black hair swished across Wendy's cheek. "What have you got there?" Wendy blinked and her mind refocused on what she had been doing before she'd been caught up in Cami. "Watch. Nick got it from the second site." Cami's hmm made Wendy shiver, a very good kind of shiver. "But what are you doing with it?" Cami's long fingers made the trip from the table up her arms to her shoulders. She started rubbing and Wendy could feel the stress melt away from her sore back and pool in a very different part of her body. "Look at the inside of your bracelet." The hands paused, "Babe, that doesn't make much sense." Wendy smiled, "Just look." There was a pause and a bit of movement behind her back. "What am I looking for?" Wendy turned around in her stool, and wished she hadn't. Cami was wearing a skirt. A skirt that revealed a long expanse of well toned leg. She took the bracelet, one that would have cost her a month's pay, and turned it so they could both see. "There, this film here, sweat and dead skin cells." She chuckled at Cami's grimace, "It's ripe with DNA." She swiveled back around. "I was swabbing the watch's back when you came in and distracted me." Cami's hands returned to her shoulders, but to lean in, not massage. "Swabbing for DNA?" Wendy nodded, "If the perp wore the watch for even an hour, we might have transfer."

* * *

Cami watched as Wendy changed her gloves, the woman was too competent to touch the watch after touching her bracelet, and run the swab around the corners of the watch. Her hands were competent and graceful, and sure. Wendy explained every step of the procedure she was doing, but to Cami it became a pleasant background hum as she simply enjoyed watching Wendy do her work. When the computer began to do it's work, Wendy paused. "What are you doing here?" Cami smirked, "You're not happy to see me?" She watched, amused as Wendy was suddenly afflicted with foot-in-mouth disease. "Yes! I mean no! I mean, never mind! What are you doing here?" Cami motioned to the briefcase she'd placed on the floor. "Doing a little couch-work for you guys." Wendy nodded, "Oh you're working up a profile on the bomber." Cami nodded, "Bombers, plural, actually." Wendy frowned, "Damn." Cami nodded and leaned against the counter, inches away from Wendy. "Yeah, we're dealing with a whole litter of sick, sick puppies." Wendy raised an eyebrow, "Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?" Oh, she was good. Cami pursed her lips for a bit, "In my professional opinion these individuals are sociopathic with obsessive tendencies. One, the ringleader, has a superiority complex. If I had gotten them on my couch a decade or so ago I might have been able to help them."

* * *

Wendy sighed, "You can't help them now?" A look went across the psychologist's face. "I don't know…after what I've read I don't know if I even want to try." Wendy frowned, "Couch time won't help them?" Cami sighed and closed her eyes, "Therapy only helps those who want to be helped." She opened her eyes again and Wendy saw that the green orbs were misted over with just a hint of sadness and unshed tears. "If anyone could help them, it would be you." She watched the smile glide across the other woman's face, chasing the momentary lapse into sadness away. It was a beautiful smile that had Wendy wanting to see it more. "Thank you, Wendy." Suddenly the smile turned to a smirk, "But I think I can find more hopeful cases, more willing people to take to my couch." A finger dragged across her sleeve, "People I wouldn't mind spending time getting to know… intimately." Then she moved away, picked up her briefcase and left her sitting there. 

Wendy watched her leave, her mouth slightly agape. Her computer beeped, alerting her to the fact that it had completed it's analysis of the DNA sample she'd given it. She let it set for a moment. "Damn." There should have been a clause on the contract she'd signed, something about drop-dead-gorgeous women with minds like steel traps constantly coming onto you then walking out.

She sighed and inhaled the lingering remains of Cami's perfume. "Hot sex in the drop-dead gorgeous Psychologist's office. Great, now I'm going to have that image in my head all night."

Author's Note: Public access terminals, gotta love 'em.


	29. Chapter XXVIII: Gas on the Fire

_Chapter XXVIII_

_Gas on the Fire_

The conference room was teeming with life. Sara and Catherine had the computer on, looking at the website. Brass and Sofia were going through what looked like mug shots. Nick was going over copious notes, explaining something to Grissom and Warrick was on his phone talking to someone. The mentions of Lab Rat made her suspect it was Greg. He closed the phone and shook his head. "Well, the Lab Rats are planning a coup." Grisosm looked up, "What now?"

Warrick shook his head, "She tried to take Hodge's drink." Cami shrugged, "Doesn't everyone take his drink?" The gathered investigators turned to her, each shooting her a smile. Greg came in behind her. "Hodges may be an annoying, arrogant prick, but he's _our_ annoying arrogant prick." Cami had to grin, she could write a paper on group dynamics just based on this room. "Archie just plucked it out of her hands and gave it over to Hodges, all smiles and everything. It must have killed him on the inside." Greg flopped into the chair beside Catherine, "He picked the lesser of two evils, I guess."

Grissom cleared his throat. "I hate to break up the um Love Fest here, but Doctor Parker has made time to help us and I think we should give her our full attention." Guilty looks went all around and everyone turned to Cami.

She sighed and took a seat. "I looked at the web pages. In my professional opinion…"

She was cut off by a less then happy voice from the door. "Good. You're all here." Cami turned in her chair and got her first glance of the woman who was the greater evil.

* * *

The latest attack had hit the press hard, as she was well aware they all knew. Taylor Tate, a teen drama queen movie star that the tabloids adored, had been killed in the blast. Shrines to the pop star had popped up everywhere from her home town in Georgia to her farthest flung fan-clubs in Japan. As if that wasn't bad enough, someone all but gave the newest lead, a webpage, to the press. She had a pretty good idea who the leak had been too. Before she could begin her tirade her eyes fell on a new person. New wasn't the exact phrase she'd been looking for; unexpected was more accurate. "Dr. Parker, what on earth are you doing here?" The cool raven-haired psychologist raised a brow, "I could say the same about you, Agent Hart." 

The woman was ice-cold, but brilliant. They'd worked together during her stint with the FBI. "I didn't think there was any need for outside help. We have profilers with Homeland Security." The woman let out a chuckle, "Barkin and Greer, a burnout and a quack. Please, I wouldn't trust them to write up a grocery list."

Sybil took the hit on the chin. "Well, we all can't go jet-setting around on Daddie's money, petting shop-a-holics and whiny Momma's boys on the head can we?" Cambridge was, though, ready with a return. If the remark had hurt her at all, it didn't show. "No, no some of us drain the nation's coffers chasing ghosts and invading privacy on the word of crack-pots and so-called experts."

* * *

Sara realized that Cami was about to take off the gloves, and since the woman had a black belt and _that_ look in her eye, she jumped to her feet. She didn't want to have to bail Cami out of jail…again. "Dr. Parker, why don't you tell Agent Hart what you've found." She pulled back an empty chair and motioned for Hart to sit down. "Since she's here for an update anyway." 

It was a sign of her great love and respect for Sara that she didn't throttle the infuriating woman right there in the middle of the room. Somehow she was sure that the room full of CSIs and Cops would have suddenly been struck blind, deaf and dumb if she had. That, however, was beside the point. She was here to disprove Sybil's little terrorist conspiracy theory.

"As I was saying, my _professional_ opinion is that we are dealing with a group of young adults, ranging from sixteen to twenty-five. These aren't a bunch of bored fanny-smackers, though. We are talking about seriously disturbed people." She moved across the room and to the screen where Nick had the website projected. He handed her the laser pointer and control.

"Though we don't have a point-by-point plan on either site, there are mentions of what they're doing and on one, there' link to the site that was used to design the explosives. The first bomber is the ringleader. He's leading by example. This could be as simple as a game to some of them, but to others it's life and death. The attack is focused to take out one specific person, but the collateral damage is a side benefit that they enjoy. The press feeding frenzy around the case is driving them to do more. To keep everyone running in circles, create as much chaos as possible.

She clicked over to the next page and let the video of the violent club explosion play through. "The second bomber is ballsier, younger, more brash. The fact that he stole the dynamite right out from under Sam Braun's nose makes it all the sweeter for him. The site later brags about his "taking out" of Taylor Tate and the Thompon Twins. His latest blog entry," She paused to click over to it and send Sara a small grin. "Relishes in the fact that we have found him but can't touch him. He actually sent a shout-out to Maria Rymer, the reporter, in his blog." She shook her head and sighed.

"Both have clear motives, revenge. The first victim, Gina Marshall had, according to his rantings, turned him down a number of times. Unrequited love or lust, or whatever, set him off." She sighed, "Pandora opened a hell of a box without knowing it."

She clicked again. "The next intended victim was Chris Bezich, owner of several clubs in Vegas, including Saints and Sinners. Apparently, this Bezich was a bit of a womanizer." A quick glance at Catherine confirmed Cami's suspicions about her past with the now dead club owner. "He slept with the bomber's mother and she later died in a drunk driving accident. The bomber blamed Bezich." She clicked again, showing several pictures. "He stalked him for a while, collecting "evidence" of the man's transgressions." There were several pictures of him with several different blondes sporting captions like 'Whores' and 'Filthy Bastard' under them. "He certainly had a type."

She turned off the slides. "There is more, but I highly doubt that you'll want to pour through it all at the moment. She started handing out the typed points and notes she had. Since she hadn't been expecting Hart, Sara and Sofia ended up sharing.

"There are others, which is the most important aspect right now. Only two have openly stated their targets, but one is a late-comer, a copy-cat in it for glory. This LadyGoV - GoV stands for Gods of Vegas, by the way - is the most likely suspect. From what I gathered, she is female, still in high school and is planning to plant bombs at her High School Homecoming game. Apparently she has a little crush on the Queen and the Queen gabbed all about it." She back up the site to show them. "She's bold. She's feeding off of the coverage. She's daring the police to catch her. Traditionally, women are much quieter, more secretive about their doings. They don't have to go to the bar and brag to their buddies every time they score. The old saying about a woman scorned comes into play here. She wants everyone to know what she's doing." She turned to face the screen. "She's updated her blog." Cami checked her watch, "Only five damn minutes ago."

She opened the entry and she read it aloud. Everyone sat there, silent and tense, hanging on her every word. It would not have surprised Cami to know that Sara and Sofia's hands were clasped together under the table. Nor would it terribly surprise her to know that Catherine was holding on to Warrick's with a death-grip. The looks flying between Grissom and Hart might have intrigued her, but she was far too horrified to make note of what was going on behind her.

_Monday night. It all goes down Monday night. Run and cower, you little nestlings. The Lady is coming and chaos will fall in her wake._

There, under the text was a picture. A young woman with a black and red anarchy-logo'ed jacket and a tongue ring. She was mocking them. Flashing letters bellow the picture blinked out _'Fuck You All'_

"That cocky little bitch." Sofia made a sound that was almost a growl. "She gave us her picture." Nick blinked, "And a clear threat, these MySpace bastards will have to let us in now." He jumped up. "I'm all over that."

Warrick blinked. "Nestlings…Eagles…DLMH, Derrick Lippy Memorial High, out in Henderson." He all but smacked himself on the forehead, "They're playing Vegas Central in a special Monday two-for match up at the University. Big rivalries, DLMH against Central and Henderson against North Vegas, half of the county will be there." He rubbed his hands across his face. "Hell, I had tickets." He stood up, "I'll get on the horn with the Schools."

Grissom looked at Brass, "SWAT and Bomb Squad." The other man nodded and stood. Before he left the room, he clapped Cami on the shoulder, "If you ever get tired of Head Shrinking, we sure could use you around here, kid."

Sara, too, stood. "Cath and I are heading over to the DA's office. Between the three of us we'll have these blog guys groveling at our feet." Catherine chuckled and half-heartedly hid a smile. At Sara's raised eyebrow, she mouthed, 'Later'. They walked out shoulder to shoulder and Sara bumped up against Hart on her way out. She didn't even stop to say sorry.

Grissom frowned at the pages in his hand, "I want to know more about these people, Cambridge." Cami shot a last venomous glare at Sybil, then looked at Sofia, who was pouring through her notes. "Coming, Detective?" Sofia went to stand, but Hart's words cut her off. "Actually, I'd like a word with Detective Curtis."

* * *

She watched Cami and Grissom leave and couldn't help but think of them as cowards as they left her to her less-than-appealing fate. There were a thousand places she'd rather be with a million other people. Her eighth grade algebra class being taught by Freddie Kruger came to mind. Not that she let her reluctance show on her face, though. If she could work elbow to elbow with Conrad Ecklie, she could handle Sybil Hart. 

"Something I can help you with?"

The older woman glared at her. "You leaked the MySpace lead to the press." It wasn't a question. Sofia shook her head, "The other way around, actually. A member of the Press turned the lead over to me; there is a difference." Hart didn't flinch, "You gave her a statement when you _know_ there's a gag order being pushed through." This time Sofia did flinch, ever so slightly. She deserved that one. "It got us the lead." Hart slapped the table, "Yeah and it gives _her_," she threw a scarlet tipped finger at the screen where LadyGoV's image mocked them, "plenty of time to pack up and run after she blows a ton of high school kids sky-fucking-high. I hope you're satisfied with yourself." Sofia sighed and shoved her hands into her pockets, "I did what I had to." Hart scowled at her. "No. You went rogue and played hero. Something this department is lousy for." Hart didn't break eye contact, nor did she lighten her scowl. "I will let the Sheriff know that you are the one behind this leak and you will go on the carpet for it." She turned, but not before throwing in a parting shot. "I expected more from a Curtis."

She left Sofia standing there, with only the projection of a teenage killer for company. "Fuck me." The worst part of the whole thing was, Hart was right.

Author's Note: Another update, whee.


	30. Chapter XXIX: Ends and Means

_Chapter XXIX_

_The End Justifies the Means_

Archie took the still and cleaned it up. They were running through facial recognition software, cross-checking it against juvenile records, Safe-Kids websites, the Nevada Family and Children Services database and the schools' online yearbooks. Nick watched the faces flash on the screen, one after another. If you weren't used to the flashing screen, you would have gotten motion sickness, but he sat and watched just as he had for the last five hours, breaking only for coffee and a trip to the Men's Room.

He was racking up more overtime and his left butt-cheek had gone numb but when the computer finally beeped, alerting him to a match, he decided that the end justified the means.

* * *

Catherine pounded the desk as she glared at the man they had on web-cam conference. "This isn't about your damn right to free speech or privacy, it's about a bunch of kids who are going to be blown to Hell and back again if you don't give us a fucking name!" 

Beside her, Sara stood stoically, the perfect image of a female Grissom, stony faced and alert. She put a hand on Catherine's shoulder and then stepped into the camera's full view. With only a look at the other CSI and the ADA in the room she pulled a badge out of her inside coat pocket. "Let me make this very clear, sir. Do you see this? This shiny badge here gives me the right to kick you to the side and go through any files I feel like. Terrorism is not a game. Do you want me to shut down your website and ban it from ever coming back? Aiding and abetting Terrorism is not a light offence. Your lawyers will have a hell of a time defending your right to free blogging or whatever the hell you do while you're rotting in Guantanamo Bay or where ever I chose to boot your ass. Names, and do it now before I get testy." She pushed her jacket back to reveal her holstered service weapon and clipped the badge right beside it. "You have something else to add?" The man's turned white, "Homeland Security? Terrorism? Jesus H. Christ. Where do you want me to send the files?" Sara smirked, "The Las Vegas Crime Lab will be anxiously waiting."

The screen went blank and Catherine whirled around, with a mix of shock and awe on her face. Sara only shrugged, "I figured that would work." She unclipped the obviously stolen badge from her belt. "Hart had to come in handy for something." The ADA closed his eyes and threw his hands over his ears, "I didn't hear or see that. La-la-la-la-la!" Catherine smirked, "The end justifies the means?" Sara only shrugged again, and watched for the email to come up. "This time."

* * *

"Jim?" She stood outside his office and felt very much like she was about to visit the Vice Principal's Office. Said event had only happened once in her entire school experience and Sofia still thought that Dodge Ball was a dangerous sport that should come with protective gear. Especially if you were an over-muscled jock who liked to hit on obviously uninterested freshman girls. 

Of course her ill-though-out actions this time around was more serious then adding a new soprano to the choir. The Police Captain looked up and motioned her in. "Hey, Sofie, you hear anything yet?" She shook her head and wished her stomach would quit churning. She took a seat and looked around his desk. She had to smile at the small bear figurine that was sitting on top of some papers. "I think…No, I know I messed up." Jim nodded and stood up, he closed the door and turned back to her. "I'm listening."

Though it galled her to admit that she might have miscalculated or even, perhaps, been wrong, she let the entire story come out. She spared no detail, she even included the file that the woman had on Sara.

Jim Brass was many things: Her supervisor, her friend, Sara's stand-in-father, and a good cop.

She felt her face redden as she spoke of Hart's scathing dressing-down and the fact that she had gone against the impending gag order to secure the lead. As she listened to herself, she realized what she sounded like. She sounded like a corrupt cop.

She stared at her hands as she waited for him to say something, anything. She heard him take a breathe and prepared for the worst.

"Sybil Hart is a Grade-A Bitch." Sofia's head snapped up to look at him. She was shocked, to say the least. "That doesn't make what she said wrong." She nodded, she didn't want him to hear her voice crack. "She's not a cop, though. She never has been. She played at being a CSI and then ran off with the FBI. Sanders has had more field experience then she has." He sighed, "She's about the image, the paper work, the politics of all this." His hand waved around his office vaguely. "She understands orders and procedure, the ideal of police work." He sat down heavily in his chair. "She's never had to see a friend bleeding on the ground because of a perp. She's never made a life or death decision in the space of a few heartbeats. She isn't a cop.

* * *

Jim Brass sighed and took a deep breath. It had taken balls for Sofia to come to him like this. To admit that she had messed up, and ho-boy had she ever. On the other hand, she had gotten them a lead that they might not have gotten in time otherwise. With the mayor and sheriff breathing down his neck, with literally thousands of lives on the line, time was of the essence and Sofia had won them some. "Sometimes, Sofie, the end justifies the means. If we catch these bastards, it will be because of you and yes, it will be because of Maria Rymer. I'm not saying that you won't catch shit, because you probably will. What I'm saying is, if I had been in the same position, I think I would have done the same exact thing." His and her pager went off, he didn't even bother to check it. "I think it's time to go to work." He watched her stand up, some of her confidence back. "Yeah." She paused at the door, "Thanks, Jim." He watched her leave and sighed, "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

They had stopped for a bit to catch their collective breaths. They were at a momentary stand-still. Judges were being roused to sign off on Warrants, contacts were being made. There was nothing to do but wait. The waiting, Cami decided, sucked. 

"I was at Hart's FBI Going Away Party, you know." Warrick looked up, "Really?" She nodded and took a sip of Greg's Blue Hawaiian brew. "I free-lance for the Beuru sometimes. Yeah, all the guys got completely smashed on champagne, the guest of honor didn't even know about the party and everyone chipped in and sent her new team a 'Good Luck' card and a case, an entire case, of athletic cups." She grinned, "It was pretty funny, actually."

She looked around, it was just her and Warrick for the moment. She decided to take a page out of Lindsey's very effective book. "So…you and Catherine, huh?" Warrick choked on his coffee and when he cleared his windpipe, he stared at her, "Damn woman. You don't pull any punches, do you?" She motioned for him to sit down on the couch and she took a seat on the arm of it. "I'm just observant like that. Now, from what Sara's told me, you two have been dancing around each other for _years_." Warrick frowned at her, "I don't think I can afford you poking around my head." She took another sip, "Consider this a gimme, now, back to the subject at hand. If you've forgotten, that would be you and Catherine and why you haven't made a move yet."

It was the eve of the most dangerous, most important case of his life and this woman wanted to know why he and Catherine weren't burning up the office grape-vine with red hot tales of locker-room-loving. Crazy must be catching, he mused, because he was trying to formulate an answer. "I can't believe I'm letting you shrink me in the middle of the break room." Cami grinned, "And I can't believe you haven't hit that shit until it cries yet. Trust me, if that woman was my type, I'd be all over her in a heart beat." Indignation ran through Warrick and he all but leapt off the couch. "Catherine is not some easy lay!" Cami curled her fingers together and rested her chin on them. "Ah-ha. So Mr. Tall, Dark and Silent does care." Warrick glared at her, oh this woman was tricky. "It's not like that. We've got something." Cami nodded, "A blind man could see that, go on." He sighed and collapsed against the back of the couch. "She's smart, beautiful, she's got this great heart that just doesn't stop. Her smile is amazing, and her eyes, gorgeous. I remember the first time I met her. I was coming in out of the Academy, a green-ass cadet." He grinned.

"_I'm looking for a Doctor Grissom." She looked up and he had to catch his breath. "I'm not him, thank God. Gil is in his creepy little office, talking to his pet spider." She held out a hand, "I'm Catherine Willows." He'd shook her hand, "Warrick Brown. I guess I'm the new guy." Catherine pushed a strand of red-gold hair back, "Well, Mr. New Guy, let me show you your first autopsy, I was just on my way to the Morgue now."_

"I didn't throw up. I focused on her perfume; it was Tommy Girl, I think. I knew, right then, that I was in some shit." Cami nodded, "And how long ago was that?" He frowned, "Well Lindsey was six, so about ten years ago or so." When he said it out loud, it did sound sort of…weak. Crushing on the same woman for ten years and not making a move. Cami only lifted an eyebrow, "And now?" He frowned, "Did Sara tell you about the Neon Killer Case?" She nodded, "She did. She called me right afterwards, in fact. First to panic over Sofia kissing her, then to have a little crying jag over almost losing you, and I think there was some ranting thrown in there as well. I don't quite remember everything." He nodded, "I almost died and all I thought about was Cath." Cami nodded, "Sara said the exact same thing." At Warrick's raised eyebrows, she chuckled, "About Sofia. Near death experiences are always different. There is rarely a tunnel with a light at the end. Some people's lives flash before their eyes, and yadda yadda yadda." She shrugged, "Most of the people I've spoken to, though, tell me that their thoughts went to their loved ones. Mothers, children, lovers. All the signs are there, Warrick. You've just got to make a move." He sighed, "I've been trying to." Cami grinned and bounced up off of the couch, "There is only can and can not, there is no try." He looked at her, "Did you just quote_ Star Wars_?" She shrugged, "Hey the Muppet was on to something. Now that I've dispensed my wisdom, I'm ready to go home. Not all of us live like vampires, you know." He nodded, "Before you go, I have to ask…'Hit that shit until it cries?'" Cami laughed, "My nephews, but hey, sometimes the end justifies the means. It got you thinking, didn't it?"

* * *

Catherine was quite oblivious to the fact that Warrick was all but confessing his undying love for her over coffee. She was on a mission. She wasn't all that happy to be on said mission, but she'd drawn the short straw and had to be the one to go and find Agent Hart. She actually envied Sara, who was filling out paperwork. 

"Borrowed" badge in hand, she set out to find the woman and finally tracked her down to what was usually Ecklie's office. The woman was hard at work, which surprised Catherine. It shouldn't have, though. She'd worked with her before and knew that the woman had a work-a-holic streak in her that rivaled Grissom and Sara's. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told her younger colleague that she and Hart were alike in that regard.

She leaned against the door. "I found this in the Ladies Room, thought you might need it." The woman looked up from her work, slightly distracted. "What? Oh is Miss Sidle done intimidating innocent computer programmers with it?" Catherine was pretty sure that her jaw had just come dangerously close to hitting the ground. Sybil stood up and stretched. "She has light hands, but is a little rusty. I wonder where she learned to pick pockets like that. It's definitly not something they teach at Harvard." Catherine tilted her head, "You knew?" Catheirne readied herself to defend the same woman she'd once spoke of in the same tone. Her own words came back to her. _'I was almost another Sybil Hart' _She pushed the thoughts aside and squared her shoulders, ready for a brawl. The Agent shrugged, "She didn't take it to play dress-up with. She had a plan and it obviously worked, otherwise you would have been slipping in here to put it back anonymously. Instead you're here to brag, more or less." Sybil leaned against the desk and crossed her legs at the ankles. "You always were good for that, Willows, bragging. Showing off your achievements to anyone who would give you the time of day." She shrugged, "You haven't changed. I've done some asking around. You hated Sidle until she risked life and limb for your kid. It must have been a rough wake-up-call for you."

Catherine didn't know where this was going, but she didn't like it.

"Of course, I'd hate her too if she closed the book on my ex's murder. Then again, maybe not, but I digress. The talk still hasn't died down, you know. How you treated her, how the last words to her before she went off and got stabbed for your daughter were along the lines of 'I hate you' or something as equally melodramatic as that. Now you're all sorts of buddy-buddy." Catherine shrugged a shoulder, "Sara and I didn't get along, that's pretty well known. You're not shocking me with your clairvoyancy here, Sybil."

Sybil tilted her head, "Yes, there aren't many secrets about _you_ left, are there? You're the bastard of Sam Braun, a glorified thug in thousand dollar shoes, and your latest in a long, long string of cheap boy friends is dead, killed in a blast. Am I missing anything, here?" She smirked, "Ah yes, you blew quite a hole in the DNA lab as well. You've been a very busy girl." Catherine raised a brow, "What does any of this have to do with the case at hand?"

"Nothing at all, of course, since you're off the case it doesn't matter one way or the other." Catherine ran that back through her head, "I'm sorry, what?" Sybil leaned back in Ecklie's chair. "The dynamite was stolen from your father and your ex was one of the victims. I've recused you for propriety's sake."

Her blood buzzed in her ears as it roared through her. "_You _recused _me_?" Sybil nodded, "You should have recused yourself, it is procedure." Her first instinct of screaming 'Screw Procedure' was quickly squashed by a sudden blast of common sense and career survival skills. "This isn't over." She turned on her heel and stormed out. Sybil heard her slam a door, presumably her office door, hard enough for the bang to be followed by the faint sound of something dropping off of a shelf inside.

There were more important things to deal with, though, then a pissed off Catherine Willows. Like the freshly signed Warrants she'd been handed, or the now- ID-ed terrorists she needed to capture.

She wasn't playing nice with everyone, but that wasn't in her job description. Just like she had allowed Sidle to "borrow" her badge, she put Catherine off the case. You had to chose your battles and know when it was okay to bend the rules and when you had to toe the line. When it all came down to it, the end justified the means.

Author's Note: I honestly didn't set out to make this story so hard on Catherine...it just sort of happened. Credit for "Hit that shit..." goes to my younger sister. I don't know where she heard it, and I don't really want to find out. I just thought it would be rather amusing to hear it coming out of Cambridge's mouth. There's another little glimpse into Sara's not-so-pretty past, but that's another story. Another update, whee me.


	31. Chapter XXX: Click

_Chapter XXX_

_Click_

The SWAT team was poised at the door. Daniel Lofty's apartment was close to WLVU without being on campus. The area was congested with cheap apartments, larger, older houses with Greek letters nailed over their doors, and a multitude of cars in varying conditions. They ranged from rusted, rattling death traps to brand new Hummers. The whole place reeked of 'college'. Sara walked back and forth, kit in hand, waiting impatiently on the sidewalk. She tugged at the bullet proof vest that Jim had forced her to wear. It was uncomfortable, bulky and sweltering in the mid-morning heat.

Jim, behind the small cadre of black Kevlar clad SWAT officers, leaned in and knocked on the door. "OPEN UP, LVPD!" Sara was too far away to hear if there was a reply, but at Jim's signal, they busted down the door. Beside her, Warrick stood watching. His arms were crossed over his chest, made bulkier than usual by his own bullet proof vest. He lowered his sunglasses a fraction and looked at her. "Stop pacing." She scowled at him and continued her pacing. Her eyes were locked on the door, watcing warily. The last time Jim had went into a situation like this, he'd come out on a stretcher. It had been months since then, but the memory remained strong. His vest - she tugged on the Velcro that held hers to her body - hadn't helped him then, had it?

Long minutes dragged out, and she was sure that there were grooves in the sidewalk from her pacing. Finally, Jim reappeared, vest in hand, gun holstered. The apartment was clear, Lofty had gotten the hell out of Dodge. Beside her, Warrick mumbled a curse under his breathe.

* * *

She, with Gilbert and one of his CSIs, at her side, watched SWAT bust down the door. They swarmed in, rifles at the ready. Three people were herded out. Kevin Chapelle's father, step-mother and the stepsister. The young blonde had a gun pointed at her head and mascara-ruining tears running down her face. The boy was gone. She knew that before the 'all clear' was announced. She wasn't surprised. They'd had, thanks to Detective Curtis, plenty of time to pack their things and skip town.

"They're still in the city." She looked at Gilbert, he shrugged one shoulder. "They have to stay at least until tomorrow night. The explosion at the ball field will be too good to miss." She shook her head, "I don't want to have to wait that long, Gilbert. I want them now." He shook his head and looked at the SWAT officer coming out of the house. "So do I."

She was not dressed in her usual suit. You didn't waste designers on terrorists. She was almost indistinguishable from Gilbert and CSI Stokes in her slacks. Only her vest, cut much like theirs, set her apart. It had HOMELAND SECURITY on it instead of FORENSICS. She took off her sunglasses. "We'll need to get the computer, any CDs, floppy disks, jump-drives, you get the idea." The two men nodded, "The warrant covers anything and everything, so don't hold back. Rip up the floors if you have to. This bastard is going down." She turned her head at a shout.

A small blue Honda Accord was approaching the crime scene. The driver slammed the brakes right in front of the yellow tape. From here she could tell that the driver was young, male and he was panicking. She wasn't the only one who had noticed. Stokes had started to run. "HEY!"

A shot of adrenaline hit her system and she turned on her low-heeled boot. "It's him."

* * *

The house was nondescript; it was a cookie-cutter home in one of the never-ending, suburban hell subdivisions in Henderson. Sofia curled her lip at it; it didn't look like the home of a home-grown terrorist. The lawn was landscaped and the car in the drive looked brand new.

She pulled the Velcro straps tight and shrugged. Kevlar had not had breasts in mind when it had designed the life-saving vests. She gripped her Glock in her slightly sweaty hands and leaned over and banged on the door. "LVPD OPEN UP!" There was no answer, so she nodded and Lieutenant Kara Johnson of SWAT hit the door with the compact black battering ram. The cheap door swung open and the rifle wielding, armor wearing officers went in with Sofia close on their six.

"SHOW US YOUR HANDS!" Sofia quickly darted into the dining room, ready to arrest the little bitch who was planning to blow up an entire generation of students because her crush was crushed. The woman on her knees, hands on her head, though, was a forty year old Cuban rent-a-maid in a gray uniform. She heard the calls of clear echo through the rest of the house and ripped off the straps of her vest. "Damn it." Andrea Morton had cleared out and it was her fault. She threw her vest against a wall. "GOD DAMN IT!"

She stormed back outside and jerked her head at the waiting Greg Sanders. "Find me something. Anything, Greg." The young CSI, who was shedding his own vest, nodded gravely.

* * *

Sara dusted the laptop, but could hardly focus on that. An entire wall was dedicated to the two explosions. Grainy black and white pictures from the newspaper clashed with vivid color print outs from the computer. Mixed in were stills of mushroom clouds and mutilated human bodies. She shuddered and fought to hold her lunch. The small apartment was crammed with destructive forces. It was as if an army bunker had exploded. Hand Grenades, defunct sticks of dynamite and what looked like Vietnam era land mines took up space on a set of ramshackle metal shelves. There was a half-assembled bomb sitting on the kitchen table. Taped above the bed, which was an air mattress on the floor, was a crinkled picture of Gina Marshall, the woman that had inadvertently started the entire mess. She went over and looked at it. She wrinkled her nose; the bed sheets smelled like stale smoke and dried semen. The picture had gouges in it, like he'd taken a knife to the woman's image. Spread around the bed were pornographic magazines, many dedicated to violent scenarios. Rape, and non-consensual situations blended sickly with hardcore S&M, the sort that would have turned even Lady Heather's stomach.

Most disturbing of all in the little apartment of horrors were the plans he had strewn around. He'd been planning another attack.

She picked up her camera and began to dutifully record what she saw. Warrick, who had been searching the parking lot for the perp's car, came in and she watched his green eyes go wide at what he saw. She looked up at him. "It almost makes me nostalgiac for simple murder again." He put his kit down, "It's days like these I almost wish I'd become an astronaut." She looked up at him, "Don't I know it." She framed up a shot of the bed area and started taking pictures.

* * *

Nick reached the Honda before the boy had snapped himself back out of his fear-induced shock. He grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open. He pulled the boy - he was just that: a boy - through the open door with the car still running. He didn't even hear the uniforms, Grissom or Agent Hart behind him. He put Kevin Chapelle on the ground, face down. "All right, boy." The sudden smell and the tell-tale darkening of denim at his crotch told Nick that the he'd lost bladder control.

Sybil Hart pushed through the fray. "BACK UP!" She pulled a pair of handcuffs out of her vest. She bent down, next to Stokes and looked the frantic young man in the eyes. She told herself that he didn't look like her nephew, that he wasn't a terrified teenager. She reminded herself of the forty-seven lives he'd taken. She slapped one of the steel cuffs on his thin wrist. "Under the Authority vested in me by the Office of the United States Homeland Security Department and President George W. Bush, Kevin Chapelle, you are under arrest for acts of terrorism. You have the right to remain silent, if you refuse this right, anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney; if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them?" The boy screamed obscenities into the pavement. She ignored the kidney shot Nick Stokes not-so-discreetly delivered. She, Stokes and a uniform, pulled the boy to his feet. She heard someone screaming from behind the crowd of officers. They walked, half carried, him to one of the cars. "Someone get him a vest, we don't want any pissed-off locals taking a shot at him too soon." Back, far behind the crime scene tape lines, she could see flash bulbs going off, but they couldn't see anything. "No one mutters a word to the press, got it?" She looked over at Grissom. "Get me what we need to put him away forever, Gilbert.

Nick watched as Sybil drove off in the caravan with the suspect. More accurately, he watched Grissom watch her leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

* * *

Greg walked through the house, kit in one hand, flash light in the other. The girl's bedroom was the priority scene. Pictures along the wall were so...normal. He didn't understand what had happened. How did a girl go from softball team Captain to terrorist? Angela Morton had taken a sharp turn in just the last year. It was as if her entire life had suddenly ended because one girl had started a vicious rumor about her. He shook his head. One of the pictures along the hallway had Angela as a five year old girl. He just couldn't see that little girl as the woman who currently had Vegas trembling.

The door to her room had a 'TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT' sign on it. The door was half open and Greg looked inside. Standing at the threshold for a moment, he just took in the darkness of the little self-contained world before him. The drapes were pulled tight over the windows blocking the desert sun. The only source of light came from the fish tank against the wall. Clothes were everywhere, covering the floor like a second carpet. Magazine cutouts ranging from Amy Lee to Marilyn Manson covered the walls from floor to ceiling. The computer screen saver flashed away at him, showing scenes from some Vampire show. It was all so normal and yet so very twisted at the same time. Barbies were lined up on a shelf, mutilated hair and scorched bodies, 'slut' and 'bitch' shapried on long plastic legs. One of the walls was painted black with a bleeding, broken red heart in the center. He shrugged, "Home is where the heart is...I guess." He took a step inside, ready to process the scene. He heard it, just audible over the monotonous hum of the fish tank. There was a subtle sound, barely noticible, it stopped him in his tracks. CLICK.

As a child, Greg had spent hours playing with his next door neighbor, Luke. Luke's uncle Pete had been to Vietnam, something he never let anyone forget. He'd lost both of his, "Frick-Frackin'-Charlie-Stomping-Legs" in the war.

"_There were Daisy-Chains, and kids walking around with grenades with fishing hooks tied to them so they could run up behind a GI in town and stick it on his back to where he couldnt reach it. Trip wires in mother-frackin' rice paddies, but the thing that got me, boy-ohs," He sat the ever present bottle of Jack Daniels down and rested his scarred hands on the stumps of his legs, "Was a land mine." At ten and twelve, Luke and Greg had no real idea what a land mine was. "Buried underneath the damn ground. You could just be walking around, minding your own damn business. It was just as likely to happen when you were taking point for your platoon as it was when you were going to take a piss. You step down and you hear it. This click. That click, boy-ohs, that's the end of it. I can still hear it, Boy-ohs. I froze right up; it was an automatic reaction. You heard the click, you froze. I could feel the pressure trigger under the thin-ass sole of my sorry-ass boots." He took a deep drag from his bottle. "This kid behind me, can't remember his name now, he died over in 'Tet. He looked at me and said, "They got you Robbie. Right beside him was Jimmy Franklin. Me and Jimmy had met up in Basic. We were good friends. He looks at me and he says, 'It's gonna be okay, Robbie.'" He closed his eyes and shook his head, "He put down his weapon and started backin up. Right about then I was shittin' my skivvies. He ran at me, and tackled me. Tackled me right offa that fuckin' mine." The explosion was big, boy-ohs." He took another shaky drink even though his voice was already slurring. "Took my legs, killed Jimmy deader than shit. That sound, Boy-ohs, that click." He tapped the side of his head, "I can still hear it, clear as a damn bell." Robert, as he was given to do, rolled off after that. He went to his garage apartment and shut himself inside._

A greasy wave of fear hit him as he put his foot down in that room. Robert's words echoed in his head just as clear as they had when he'd been twelve years old. _"That click, boy-ohs, that's the end of it." _Greg could feel the pressure trigger under the thin sole of his Converse All Stars. "Oh God." He froze and could actually feel the cold sweat pop on his skin. "Oh God." He could hear his heart thundering in his chest, he could feel his hands tremble as he reached for his radio. He hit the button and heard his voice shake. "This is CSI Sanders..."

Author's Note: The seventeenth, the seventeenth, I get my PC back online the seventeenth... Is it here yet?


	32. Chapter XXXI: Pressure

_Chapter XXXI_

_Pressure_

"...I have a situation. Clear the house and send in the Bomb Squad."

The words whirled around Sofia's mind, making her stop in her tracks. Her hands trembled as she unhooked the hand held radio from her belt. "Are you okay, Greg?" She waited for his reply, terrified that there wouldn't be one. "I've been better. The bedroom is booby-trapped." She waited for him to snicker at the mention of boobies, as Greg so often did. He didn't and that clued her into the seriousness of the situation he'd found himself in. "We're going to get you out of there, Greggo." She whirled around. "GET THE BOMB SQUAD DOWN HERE!" There was a hint of panic in her voice. She didn't even realize more voices were coming over the radio.

* * *

"...send in the Bomb Squad." Sara grabbed Warrick's arm. "That's Greg." He nodded and handed her his hand held unit. "Greg?" Everything else ceased to exist. She waited for his reply. "Little busy here, Sara." The thought of Greg in danger made her hands shake so badly that she could barely hang on to the radio. Warrick gently took it back, "Don't you do anything stupid over there, man." 

He watched as Sara packed her kit. One of them had to stay and he knew right then and there that it would be him. Greg and Sara were tight; brother and sister tight. He'd been her only friend in Vegas for a long time. "Have a uniform drive you" He looked up only to see that Sara was already out the door, keys and kit in hand. "Damn."

* * *

Nick dropped his camera when he heard Greg's less then stable voice over the radio. He listened to his coworker's reassurances to him. He stared at his radio for a long minute or two. "What is it with you and explosions, Sanders?" There was a chuckle, "I'm pretty sure Catherine isn't behind this one." Nick looked up to see a stricken looking Grissom staring at him. "You better be glad Cath isn't on the airwaves, there, Sanders." 

Grissom took the radio from his hands, gently breaking Nick's grip on the small black box. "Greg, it's Gil. Can you tell me what's going on?" There was a bout of nervous laughter from the other side of the connection. "The entire house was clear and I went up to the girl's bedroom. I took a step in...she'd hidden a land mine in her room, Griss." His voice cracked and broke. "I'm standing on a land mine."

Grissom kept talking. "It's pressure sensitive, Greg. Don't move." His words were so clear and calm. In his mind's eye, he kept seeing the lab explosion. The one that had sent Greg hurtling through a glass wall. It had hurt the young man, he still had scars. "The Bomb Squad is on it's way, Greg. I need you to stay very calm."

* * *

Greg held his position, he could feel his leg straining with the weight. "I'm calm, I'm good, really. If only I could get that scene from _The Punisher_ out of my head." He held onto the radio, it was his life line, his connection to everyone else. "Greg," it was Sofia's voice, "You're going to come out of this and I am going to take you to the biggest steak dinner you've ever seen." He smiled, "Sara hasn't turned you vegetarian yet there, Sofia?" Sweat dripped down his face and he tried not to remember the lab explosion. "Hey Warrick, weren't you in the house with all the bombs in it a while back?" There was a moment of silence, "Yeah, man, yeah me and Sara. She had to get that damn door, though. We were staring at like twenty pipe bombs and she had to get that door for evidence. I thought I was going to have a coronary." Greg nodded, "Wasn't that door what broke the case in the end?" Warrick chuckled, "Yeah, only because Griss blew the rest of the house to Hell and back." Greg swallowed a burning throat full of bile. "Well, I guess it's my turn to face down a life and death situation...Nick, Brass, you, Sara, when is Ecklie's turn?" Nick's voice came over the radio, "And we all made it out, fine, Greggo. Besides, you've got Sofia conned into taking you into dinner. Do you know how long it took for Sara to wear her down to that?"

* * *

Sofia almost smiled at the dinner comment. Almost. The Bomb Squad Van pulled up behind her and she watched the men come out. She looked at the Captain. "CSI Sanders is in there; he's on what he's pretty sure is a land mine." The man nodded and started barking orders to his heavily armored team. "All right we've got an Anti-Personnel Device in there. Sanders in on the Geek Squad, but we aren't going to hold that against him. Lets get him out of there!"

* * *

He heard someone behind him. "Hey, Sanders, my name is Paul, let's see what you've gotten yourself into." Greg held still as a small fiber optics camera slid by him. It delved under the black clothes. He heard Paul behind him. "Damn this thing is old. She didn't build it, it looks like military issue." Greg heard himself chuckle, though it sounded like it was coming out of an old radio, distorted and distant. "Well I'm getting blown up by an antique; that will look great on my tombstone." He felt a tenuous hand on his shoulder, "You're going to be all right, Sanders. Just sit tight and we'll get you out of here and back to your test-tubes and finger print powder in no time." He didn't even dare to turn his head. His arm muscles ached from holding up his weighty Forensics kit for so long, his fingers were locked around it, his knuckles were bone white with the pressure. He didn't want to die. "How much you wiegh, Sanders?" "One-fifity-five", Greg grinned, "Gotta stay fit, you know." Behind him the officer was moving around. "All right, I'm not going to lie to you here, Sanders. This thing is old and it is touchy as hell. What we're going to do is switch you for dead weight. We have to do it slow and careful, though." Greg nodded, "Like dumping on dirt, I got it." The officer, Paul, didn't understand the reference. Greg kept himself calm by remembering that they had gotten Nick out of a situation that hadn't been all that different than this one. He heard a couple of more voices behind him. There were thuds and bumps, muttered curses and the thundering of his heart. The muscles in his right leg, the one that was on the bomb, twitched and he almost flinched. His left hand was on the door jamb, holding him steady. Sweat poured down him despite the crisp and cool air coming from the house's central air and heat. 

"All right, Sanders, we're going to start, are you ready?" Ready to either blow up or walk away without a scratch. It was like a twisted coin-flip, the ultimate Vegas gamble. He'd been holding his place, balancing on the edge of precious life and explosive death for forty-five minutes. Was he ready to go one way or the other? He didn't know. "Let's do it."

* * *

Sara ripped around the corner, the radio chattering incoherently beside her. Panic, ice cold and suffocating, gripped her heart. She could see an army's worth of vehicles - some sporting blue lights and others had cameras and boom-mikes - parked around a house. She threw the Tahoe in park and was pushing her way through the crowd when it happened. 

One of the windows exploded out, sending glass and pieces of wood across the small lawn. Fire leapt out of the destroyed window and started to eat away at the destroyed wall of the house. The boom wasn't all that loud, all around her, people had ducked, or covered their ears. Greg. Oh God, Greg. She pushed her way through, frantic. She could see people running around, Bomb Squad and uniforms. Where was Greg?

"GREG?!"

Author's Note: Oh now, that's just cruel of me.


	33. Chapter XXXII: Close Calls

_Chapter XXXII_

_Close Calls and Unfortunate Discoveries_

Sofia put a hand over her stinging cheek. Her fingers came back bloody. Something, a tiny piece of debris, had made across the fallout zone and knicked her. Her knees were unstable, as weak as water. Beside her Greg Sanders and Paul Crisp, the Bomb Squad Officer who'd gotten Greg out, both let out puffs of less-than-steady breath. "That was close there, Sanders." Greg rubbed his hand over his hair. "Yeah." He opened his mouth, but was cut off by a slightly panicked Sara Sidle rushing him. "You're okay? You're okay."

Sofia figured that Sara was almost as pale as Greg, which was saying something. "Sara, he's okay." Greg, who was starting to get some of his color back, grinned, "Didn't have time to grab any doors on my way out, but some of us aren't invincible." Sara rolled her eyes, "Oh, yeah, you're fine."

At her hip, Sofia's radio squawked. It was Grissom, all but demanding an update. Sofia smiled and pressed in the button, "We're Code Four, here, Grissom, your CSI is out and unharmed." Greg leaned over, "And he wants a raise." The three of them laughed, because the only other alternative was crying at the moment. Sara put her kit down, and crossed her arms over her chest, "You're bleeding." Sofia swiped at her cheek again and found her fingers came back red again. "It's barely a scratch." Sara scowled at her, "You." She jabbed a finger at Greg, "Need to sit down." She turned to Sofia, "And I am going to fish that first aid kit out of your car and take care of that." Despite the circumstances, Sofia grinned, "Are you going to kiss it and make it better?" Sara shrugged, "Maybe."

Greg, who had either calmed down and moved on, or was a great actor, gave Sara a mile-wide grin, "Hey! I got hurt too! Hello almost blown up...again!" Sara walked away, chuckling, "If Catherine couldn't get rid of you, no one could, Sanders."

* * *

Everything was clear. That didn't meant that there wasn't an ass to be throughly chewed. The ass in question belonged to Derrick Lawson, a recent transfer from Carson City, and the chewer was his direct superior, Kara Johnson. "What the hell were you thinking?!" She slapped the side of his black helmet hard enough to make him jerk. "We almost lost a man up there because you didn't do your job!" She glared at him. "It was a simple in-and-out, room-clearing sweep. Hell, people who watched the T.V. show could have done it better!" Assault Rifle held comfortably at rest, she glared at the man before her. "I'm taking this to the Captain, Lawson. That was sloppy. Fucking sloppy. You better be glad the Boom-Boom Boys knew what the hell they were doing otherwise _you _would be the one explaining what happened to Sanders family." She drilled her point home by grabbing his rifle. "You aren't toting this anymore, Lawson. Not until you've gone back through your training and re-qualified." She saw that he was opening his mouth to protest. "The Captain _will_ be behind me on this." She tugged him around, making him look at the still-smoldering house. "That could have been Sanders or Detective Curtis or any of us." She shoved him away from her when her radio sounded in her ear. 

She scowled at Lawson, but touched the button that activated her mic. "This is Baker One, what's the situation?" All of her officers were nodding and were already on the move when she signaled them. "Trouble downtown. Lawson," she sent him a glare, "You can drive the van." She pretended not to hear the "Bitch" comment he muttered as he went.

Johnson, followed by her guys, jogged to the big black SWAT van and got in. She sent one last look over her shoulder before she shut the doors.

That had been too close.

* * *

Sara watched the black van lay rubber down. The white block letters blurred together as it went by, lights flashing. A slight frown went across her face, but she shook her head. There was always something going on in Vegas, and sometimes those things called for the big guns. Maybe, she hoped, they'd caught one of the suspects. She knew that Sofia's car, much like her Tahoe, was full of the tools of their trade. There was a shotgun in the trunk and a spare clip or two of ammo, a spare set of handcuffs and a can of mace in the glove box. Somewhere in there was a duffel bag with a spare set of clothes and shoved under the passenger seat would be a small first aid kit. She opened the driver's side door and leaned over to get at the kit. There was a big file in the passenger seat and Sara frowned at it. It wasn't like Sofia to keep case files in her car. Her hands found the box and she pulled it out. She slid into a sitting position in the driver's seat and frowned at the file again. She picked it up, flipped the flimsy cover back, and felt her world come to a screeching halt. 

_The State of California versus Laura Sidle_

She flipped through the pages, not believing what she was seeing in stark black and white. Photocopies and grainy pictures. Handwriting that she hadn't seen in years, but she knew it almost as well as her own. Her old social worker's signature jumped out at her. Rape kit results, DD5s, it was everything. The entire sad and twisted tale of Sara Sidle. Clammy cold sweat covered her skin and hot bile churned in her stomach.

What was Sofia doing with this file on her? What had she read? She knew. Sofia knew everything. It wasn't as if she wasn't going to tell her...eventually. This, though...this... Her hands tightened on the paper. She'd researched her, poked into her past, invaded her most precious privacy, brought her darkest secrets out. Anger began to replace the shock. She had no right. No right to do this. She had thought... No. Obviously, she'd thought wrong. She picked up the file and slid it into her kit, God forbid Jim saw it - if he hadn't already.

Her heart might have been broken and shattered in her chest, but she would be damned if she showed it. She slid her sunglasses up her nose, masking her eyes and squared her shoulders. She locked down on the quivers that wanted to take over her chin. She had a case to close and friend to take care of right now. Her personal "issues" would have to wait. Now, Sara brooded, if she could only look at Sofia without either bursting into hysterical sobs, screaming or running away, she'd be fine.

She started walking back, first aid kit forgotten in the seat, her professional mask, complete with what she knew the Lab Techs called the Sidle Fault, in place.

She would get through this...somehow.

Author's Note: Greg is fine for now, though I solidly stand by my earlier statement that no one is guarenteed safe in this story.


	34. Chapter XXXIII: Mob Mentality

_Chapter XXXIII_

_Mob Mentality_

When the SWAT team arrived at 1189 Silvermount Road, the situation had already gone past "out of hand" and was quickly edging towards a full blown riot on the street. The building was simple, elegant and hardly out of place on the quiet, off-the-strip street. The Las Vegas Islamic Center and Mosque was a white building with a small plaza and a sterling reputation. Two huge pictures of the beaten, bruised and bloody Naseem teenagers flanked a podium where Alasdair Habib, the Chairman of the Las Vegas Islamic League, was giving an impassioned speech. Or he had been until bystanders and what looked like most of the Las Vegas Chapter of the NRA, showed up. Now the two sides were separated by officers, hurling hot curses at each other. A barely controlled violence bubbled in the air, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Kara Johnson scowled, "Stand down!" She grabbed a bull horn. This little rally had overstepped its First Amendment given rights. She could hear the Arabic curses, and recognized them from her time in Afghanistan. She pushed her way through. "LVPD! YOU ALL NEED TO DISPERSE!" She could hear someone on the Islamic side of the frenzied crowd backing her up. Her Arabic was spotty and rusty, but she was pretty sure he was trying to calm people down. If only, she scowled, the other side was as cooperating.

"MY BROTHER WAS KILLED IN IRAQ!" Someone, she assumed it was the screamer, threw a handful of landscaping gravel at the other side of the crowd. "I'M NOT GOING TO LET THESE FUCKING RAG HEADS WALK ALL OVER VEGAS!" There was a roar in support from the one side and anger from the other.

Kara signaled for one of her boys to call for back up and held up her hands, "EVERYONE JUST CALM DOWN!"

* * *

It was going to be a two-for-two day, Maria mused. She'd been on-scene when Homeland Security had taken down Kevin Chapelle, and now, she'd arrived just in time to catch a near riot at Vegas's biggest Mosque. She almost rubbed her hands together in anticipation. She and her camera man went to the holding line that had been set up and she grinned. 

She walked right up to the officer that was standing guard at the fringes of the crowd. She trailed a finger down his sleeve. "Hello, Adam." Officer Adam Murphy was just about as ugly as homemade sin, and a prick to boot, but he had his uses. "I was wondering if me and my guy can take a little peek at what's going on." She smiled at him running her fingers over his badge. "Think you can help me out?" He grinned and looked her up and down, "I don't know, now, Maria, is there something in it for me?" She almost grimaced. There were some lines she wouldn't cross with her career and boffing Adam Murphy was one of them. Thankfully, he wasn't talking about that. She drew a crisp one-hundred dollar bill out of her purse. He snatched it and stepped aside. She slid by him, slightly annoyed that she had rubbed up against him, and started working her way through the crowd.

* * *

"I'LL SPEAK IN A LANGUAGE THOSE FUCKING A-RABS CAN UNDERSTAND!" More rocks were slung. "STAND DOWN!" Kara wheeled around, looking at the gathered group, her weapon tight in her grip. Where was her back up? Mob mentality was quickly taking over and she and her partial team were no match for a hundred pissed off Hicks and Muslims. The gathered officers - some were her guys, including Lawson, and some were just unfortunate uniforms who'd caught the call - stood firm, but there was a wave of fear going through them. She was afraid too; this situation was one of those that an officer, be they of the Military or the Police, never wanted to find themselves in. Gas would be no good, not in such tight quarters. They weren't prepared, they didn't have riot shields or batons. She turned to the still mostly-cooperative Muslim side of the group and began asking them, in Arabic and English, to disperse. She felt a rather hefty stone hit the back of her helmet and grit her teeth. _Where was that fucking back-up?!_

* * *

Maria signaled Billy, her camera man, to start rolling. She had her microphone and watched as he did a count-down. They were positioned about seven or eight yards from the riot, with a perfect view of everything.

"This is Maria Rymer with Channel Five News, bringing you another breaking story. The scene at the Vegas Islamic Center, usually a calm and serene place on a Sunday afternoon, is chaotic. Just behind us, members of the LVPD, including SWAT officers, are trying to disperse a crowd right now. A speech about tolerance and understanding between the Islamic and Christian community here in Vegas is coming dangerously close to becoming a wild mob brawl. Billy moved around her to get a shot of more rocks and curses being thrown and Maria could all but taste the glory. "Let's get closer, Bill." He nodded and they eased closer to the crowd.

* * *

The Riot Team finally arrived and they were working through the crowd. Some left, some were being arrested, but for the moment, Kara decided, the crisis had been averted. She squinted and covered her eyes, and looked around. She didn't even realize she'd cursed until she was already making her way across the area. "Oh for fuck's sake! MARIA RYMER!"

* * *

Ian Terrell gripped the straps of the duffel bag and glared at crowd. Those bastards, those fucking Muslims, had killed his wife. She'd just been doing her job, working the party at Saints and Sinners when they'd blown everything to hell. Oh, the LVPD was covering it up. They were all covering it up, all right. Homeland Security was here, though, wasn't it? This wasn't some pissy thing they were making it out to be. This was some kind of cover-up from Al-Queda. Fucking Bin Laden had probably planned this himself. The Bible said an eye for an eye. His heart said that Claudia deserved justice. He'd be seeing his wife again soon enough, he decided. He held the bag to his chest and started to work his way through the crowd.

Author's Note: Yes! The return of Adam Murphy. Now that I think of it, wasn't RoboCop's human name Adam Murphy? I know it was something Murphy. Anyway, yes, he's still here and yes, I am still abusing him.


	35. Chapter XXXIV: Can't Solve Itself

_Chapter XXXIV_

_The Case Doesn't Solve Itself_

Sara Sidle was perched on a stool in one of the layout rooms. The blinds were drawn and the door was shut. Usually this was a signal to the rest of the lab that ALS was in use and if the door was opened, the light sensitive chemicals that were in use would be ruined. Sara hadn't touched her ALS since she'd arrived; she just didn't want to be disturbed. It was just her and the evidence. She had finished processing the evidence that Warrick had brought in from Lofty's apartment, and was running evidence against Chapelle, the only suspect they had in custody. Off to the side there were a scant few items collected from the debris in Morton's room. If she had bothered to check her watch, she would have realized that she'd been closed in with the evidence for a solid hour.

It was a good thing for Sara, though, that Catherine had kept an eye on the time. She had also kept a weather eye on the layout room and knew that no one, not even Sara, used ALS for an entire hour with no break. She opened the door, quietly, and frowned when Sara didn't even turn. The woman was bent over a microscope, her hand flying over a sheet of paper, taking notes. Catherine came up behind her, and touched her shoulder, "Sara."

Sara whirled around, one hand on her chest, the other on her gun. Catherine was a little frightened to find that the other woman's brown eyes were wide and just a little panicked. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay, Sara?" Catherine wanted to kick herself. Of course she'd scared the woman. The last person who'd sneaked up on her from behind had almost killed Sara.

There was something else there, though. Even after Sara had relaxed, there was still tension in her shoulders and shadows in her eyes. "Hey," She put her hand back on Sara's shoulder, "Are you okay?" While Sara's words, steady and firm, said one thing, her eyes, deep and full of barely controlled pain, said another. Catherine leaned against the counter. "You've been in here for an hour , Sara, and God only knows how many hours you've put in today." She watched the other woman shrug and check her own watch. "Oh. Well, the case doesn't solve itself." She shook her head, "I heard about what Hart did to you. I'm sorry, Cat." Catherine shrugged, brushing the incident aside, choking down her own anger. "It's no big deal." Sara rolled her dark eyes, "Come on, Catherine. I've been on that side of your temper before. Ranting will do you good. I'll even let you blame me. It'll be just like old times." Catherine chuckled, "No. It won't. Back then you didn't have a seriously protective girlfriend with a gun."

She caught the wave of anger and sadness in Sara's eyes and watched the other woman's face go stone hard and unreadable. "Oh, honey, did you and Sofia have a fight?" If it was strange that she was comforting the woman she'd once pushed Grissom to fire, neither Catherine nor Sara made note of it. "I don't want to talk about it."

As the mother of a teenage daughter, Catherine heard that line a lot. "Spill it, Sara. Tell me why Miss I-Take-Crap-From-Nobody is sulking in a lab." Sara glared at her, "I'm not sulking and why do you care anyway?" As soon as the words, hot and angry, left her mouth, Sara's eyes went wide. "I didn't mean that." She dropped her head to her hands. "We haven't had a fight." Catherine, still smarting from Sara's scathing -but perfectly accurate- words, gave the other woman a small hug. She heard the 'Yet' that Sara was silently screaming. She kept one arm slung over Sara's shoulders. "You haven't had lunch. Store all of this away and we'll go grab something and trash women and how awful they are." At that, Sara raised a brow, "So you finally heard about Cami and Wendy, huh?"

Catherine's brows knit, "What about them?" Sara smiled, though the motion didn't chase the swirl of emotion from her eyes. "Cath, your house is too far from the Luxor for you to live in the land of denial." The thin mask of humor held firm and she smiled, "Now you said something about food?" It was so easy, Catherine mused, for Sara to pretend everything was fine, even when she was hurting so badly her eyes silently screamed. She smiled. Catherine both felt sadness and pride for her younger colleague.

* * *

Her office was empty and as silent as a tomb, but she didn't mind. She preferred to do this work here. It kept it more clinical, she could pretend to pull away from it, to leave it behind her when she went home. She didn't want the human cancer of the Gods of Vegas in her home. Her part in the investigation was over, more or less, but she was compelled to do more. She looked through all of them, each member of their sick and twisted little club. Some were just...kids, confused and scared. They had thought it was all talk, just a game. She had names, so so many names, to apply to the screen names now; the youngest of them was eleven and the oldest was no more then twenty-seven. Had she ever been that young? Weariness settled into her body and she felt years older than her true age. The weight of the darkness before her made her older, more jaded then she'd ever really wanted to be. That was why she'd never committed herself to profiling. If she had to spend all day, every day, of her career wading through the blood-drenched psyches of rapists and murderers, she would have given it all up years ago. 

Agent Hart wanted her to do a full evaluation on Kevin Chapelle. She closed her laptop, signing off of MySpace, blocking the pictures and rants of troubled people out of her eye line. The last few lines that she had read haunted her,

_'The world, this city walks all over everyone. If you're not pretty, if you're not rich, you're nothing. The Gods of Vegas finally stand up for the little man, for the under dog and instead of being hailed as heroes, they're rotting in prison. They stood up for themselves and suddenly they're a threat.'_

Cami sighed, she had an appointment with a boy, who wasn't even old enough to buy cigarettes. He'd killed forty-seven people. What was this world coming to? She slid her laptop into her briefcase and stood. She took a deep breath and left her office, locking her door behind her. This case, she told herself, wouldn't solve itself and if she could help, she would.

* * *

Sybil Hart didn't play good-cop-bad-cop. She was a Federal Agent, that always made her the scary bad-guy. She didn't need back up. She ate little wimps like this for breakfast. No case solved itself; she'd broke hundreds of cases by pressuring little pricks just like this. He looked small, she mused, in his orange clothes. They'd taken his belt and shoe strings from him, and were keeping him away from the general population...and sharp objects. She'd dressed for intimidation. She had her black, no-nonsense power suit on. It screamed 'Government', which was what she had been going for. Her badge and ID were prominently displayed. 

"So, Kevin, do you think Terrorism is a joke?" She waited a beat, "No, you think murdering innocent people is some kind of game. I saw your website. You bragged about killing twice as many people as your friend, Daniel. That makes you top dog, doesn't it? Are you proud of yourself?" He didn't answer, his lawyer and advocate, each on one side of him, frowned. "Throttle back there, Sparky," Deidre Harmon, one of the nation's top defense attorneys, scowled, "All you've got is a scared boy and an email address. In this day of hacking and identity theft, that's not much." Sybil eyed the other woman, "I bet you're doing this gratis, aren't you, Harmon. Looking to splash your name across national headlines again I bet you've already outlined your statement to the press." She crossed her arms, "Won't work this time, this punk is going down. He killed forty-seven people." She glared at the boy in question, "And has no more remorse than you or I would about stepping on an ant or swatting at a mosquito." On the other side of the boy was Arthur Dent. Dent sighed, "Let's get down to why we're here. Is there a deal or not, Agent? What do you want, names, plans, what's on the table?" Sybil shook her head, almost amused. "Deal? Who said anything about a deal? We have the names, we have the plans. This is just a chance for him to confess and save the tax payers a chunk of money." She sat down on her side of the table, "Of course, since a blog is a written and there's visual record of said crimes, I really don't think we need it."

Harmon was, as Sybil knew she would be, ready for that move. She whipped out a packet of papers, "Motion to Suppress the MySpace account, and since your entire fishing expedition was based on that, you've got no choice but to dismiss." She didn't even bother to look over the papers, "My _team_ of _Federal_ prosecutors will look over your little motion, and so, I suppose, will the _Federal _judge. You can pull every First and Fourth Amendment speech out of your bag of tricks, but when the judge and jury sees him gloating over the destruction, celebrating the deaths he caused..." She smirked, "Well, Nevada still has a death penalty, doesn't it?" Her face might have been calm, but her mind was four steps ahead, plotting and planning, preparing a statement, writing a brief to her superiors, seeing the jury send the little bastard to jail.

She left them there, hearing the frantic boy's shouts behind her. She smirked, he would cave and give them everything they had and everything they didn't.


	36. Chapter XXXV: Close Up

_Chapter XXXV_

_Close Up_

She winced when she heard her name being called. Kara Johnson was like a sister to her, a sister who was currently carrying a very big gun. She turned and pasted on her biggest smile, "Why, Lieutenant Johnson, how nice to see you." The black clad brunette didn't smile. "How the hell did you get here? Christ, Maria, this was almost a riot, not a picnic." Maria watched Kara take the heavy black helmet off her head, she shook out her short brown hair and ran her hand through it, rearranging it. She turned and scowled at her, "You're getting a Police Escort back to safety and when I get off the clock, I'm going to kick your ass for being so stupid."

Maria winced, it was a little bit like the time her Mother had caught her smoking. "Everything worked out fine, Kara, honestly. I'm a big girl now. I don't need the big-bad Jock-ette standing up for the AV Geek. Not anymore." She pretended not to hear the other woman's grumbled curses. "You're an idiot and a pain in the ass. If the guys knew I claimed you as a friend I wouldn't be able to hold my head up in the locker room." Maria snickered, "So it's all about you, huh?" Kara shrugged and shouldered her rifle, "It always is, 'Ria. Now, the tape." Maria shook her head, "Nope, not going to happen. It's an exclusive." Kara shook her head, "This isn't personal, Maria, it's business, police business. We'll need it for the case, you know that. It's your exclusive, but it's our evidence." She held out a black gloved hand, "Don't make me get a warrant, Maria." Maria sighed, "Give her the tape, Billy."

It was then, Maria would always remember, that she heard the first shouts. Time didn't slow down, not like it did in the movies. There was no sudden swell of music or camera pan to show what was happening. She didn't have a sudden epiphany, nor did she see it just a millisecond before it happened. She heard calls of codes that she didn't recognize and jargon that went over her head. She saw Kara's head snap around and Billy drop the camera. Everything was a blur. One minute she was standing on her own to feet, arguing exclusive versus evidence and the next...

"YOU BASTARDS, YOU KILLED HER!" Later toxicology, taken from his right foot, the biggest piece of him found, would reveal that Ian Terrell was on a dangerous mix of alcohol and anti-depressants. But those who watched him then, running towards the still open and occupied Mosque doors, didn't know that. They saw a man, running at full speed with a bag clutched to his chest. It wasn't as dramatic as a dynamite vest, but for a moment everyone froze. "HE'S GOT SOMETHING!" "OH FUCK!" "TAKE HIM DOWN!"

Kara saw him, saw him running towards the Mosque and she knew. She was the closest to him, but she saw it in his eyes, there was no time. She turned, pivoted just like she had trained for all those years and threw Maria and her camera man to the ground. She crouched over them, praying that they would pull through this. Even as the sound ruptured her ear drums and the intense heat licked at her back, she held her position and protected the citizens, the innocent, the woman she loved like she did her own family.

The camera, left lying on the ground, continued to record. It caught, from an awkward sideways angle, the explosion. The blast of fire and the fine spray of blood, the screams, the calls to God and Allah, the shrapnel, the debris. It caught the cowardly running, it caught the heroic pushing others to the ground. It caught the last seconds of precious life and the exact moment when death settled over the unfortunate. The time stamp read only a few seconds before everything fell silent again.

There was a weight on her back. She tried to roll and pushed at it, whatever it was. She managed to get her head up and looked at her palm, it was slick and red with blood. Maria struggled to get up. "Billy?" The man lay still, but he groaned. Panic shot through her and she struggled around. "KARA?" There was a body covering hers, Kara's body. She pushed at it. "KARA?!" There was blood, so much blood. Kara had been wearing her SWAT armor, though. She was okay, she had to be okay. She saw it, Kara's helmet, heavy and black, laying on the ground. "God. God. Oh God." She looked at the woman sprawled on the cement. Other people, officers, were running towards them. One of them, his vest said Lawson, got there first. "Johnson." He fell to his knees beside the fallen woman. Maria watched, horrified, as the man turned ashen. "She's hurt. Kara's hurt. Help her! HELP HER!" Her voice shook and broke. The man looked up, "She's gone." More officers were coming around them. Lawson, his voice choked with tears, hit his radio. "This is Baker Five. We have an Officer Down. Officer Down at 1189 Silvermount." He shook his head, "Send CSI and...and...send the Coroner. That bastard killed Kara Johnson."

Maria heard the words, but she couldn't believe them. "No. No. She's not dead! She's not dead!" She scurried back out from under the other woman and caught her first sight of the scene. Pieces of debris and fire and body parts and there. There was Kara...but the back of her head, she had been hit...she'd have a headache later. Why wasn't she waking up? Why were all the cops there? Why was the one man moving his hands over her, imitating Last Rites? Kara wasn't Catholic, was she? Had she said that out loud? Why were they all staring at her?

The reds, blacks and grays started to blend together and spin. Someone was screaming. As Maria sank into hysterical sobs and then the blackness of a faint, she realized the terrible truth. Kara had died. Who could live with half of their scull missing, protecting her? She had killed her best friend.

The call of Officer Down echoed through the PD and the Crime Lab. Every Patrol Car, every hand held unit, everyone who wore a badge knew, almost immediately, of Kara Johnson's death.


	37. Chapter XXXVI: Officer Down

_Chapter XXXVI_

_Officer Down _

Officer Down. Ryan Landers, Jenni Pant and C.J. Green of the CSI Day Shift hefted their kits and set out to the scene with heavy hearts.

Officer Down. Oliver, Kara's uncle had spent fifteen long years on SWAT and ten more in VICE. He had retired a Captain the year before, but kept a Police Scanner running out of long kept habit. He slid down the wall of his small kitchen in the house he and his late wife had raised their niece in and wept.

Officer Down. The blue lights flashed, but even they seemed subdued.

Officer Down. Outside of the PD, Jim Brass lowered the flag to half mast.

Officer Down. The members of the LVPD SWAT reeled. There was no good natured ribbing about big boys don't cry. Not when they had lost one of their own.

Officer Down. David zipped up the bag with reverence. All around them, men saluted as he wheeled the body to his van.

Officer Down. People flocked to the plaza where she had fallen and within hours there was a shrine to the fallen woman.

Officer Down. Alasdair Habib prayed to Allah that the woman whose blood had been needlessly shed, found peace.

Officer Down. Chanel Five reported it solemnly, without Maria Rymer.

* * *

Derrick Lawson found the man he was looking for in the lounge, drinking coffee. He lunged at him, knocking Adam Murphy to the floor. He went with him, punching the man over and over again as they went. "You bastard! You fucking bastard!" Derrick could feel hands pulling at him, pulling him off of Adam, but he jerked away from them. "YOU WERE ON PERIMETER! YOU LET THAT RED HEAD IN AND YOU LET THAT FUCKING MURDRER IN!" He punched the man again and was satisfied to hear the crunch of cartilage and bone. "How much fucking money you make? Huh, you fucking creep? How much blood money did you make?" It took five guys to pull him off of Adam. "It's your fucking fault she's dead. You might as well have pulled your piece and shot her, Murphy, IT'S YOUR FAULT! YOU KILLED A GOOD COP, YOU FUCK, YOU KILLED HER!"

* * *

"Cool off, Lawson!" Captain Harvey Striker looked at the man in front of him. He looked ragged, like the last few hours had stretched into days for him. Hadn't they for all of them? "She's dead, Cap." He shook his head, "She went to Afghanistan and Iraq; she was a good cop and she's dead." She's dead because this bastard let them through." He snorted back a sob. "I went to the van; the surveillance tape was running. That reporter paid him to let her through. He let her through and while he was ogling her ass, the fucking bastard that blew us all to Hell got through." The twenty-four year old man crumbled in front of him, "The last thing I said to her, Cap, I called her a Bitch when she was reaming me out...I...She's dead, Cap."

He heard the man's words, and understood them. He'd known Kara Johnson her entire life. He'd be the one to go tell Oliver Johnson, his old CO, that his niece was gone. He didn't look forward to it, not in the least. He looked at the floor where Murphy was gathering himself up. "You better pray that tape doesn't have what he says it has on it, Murphy. Becuase it won't matter who your family is, I'll rip the badge off your chest myself."

* * *

Her foot connected with the metal of the locker and the pain felt good. Kara Johnson was dead. She was dead because Sofia had let Maria Rymer run around with free reign. A good cop, a good friend was dead because she'd been too focused on her goal to see what was happening around her. Because she'd let her heart override her head. More destruction, more death, more chaos. She hoped the fucking Gods of Vegas were pleased with themselves. Sofia ran her hands through her lose blonde hair. She wanted a drink. No, she wanted Sara. She ached for the touch of her lover, a touch of comfort, of understanding. She wanted a shoulder to cry on. She wanted Sara's hands in her hair, she wanted to hear the other woman's heartbeat beneath her ear.

"Curtis." It wasn't Sara at the door. Sofia clenched her fists and bit her lip to keep from cursing. "Now is not the time, Hart." The damned woman came in to the locker room and it took everything Sofia had not to snarl at her. In the shadowy room, one that smelt of sweat and gunpowder, the woman looked down at her. "You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself. You can cry like a five year old girl or." She offered a hand, "You can come with me and catch the bastards behind all of this."

Sofia didn't know what had prompted Sybil to act so...human, but she took the offered hand and stood up. "You've got them?" Sybil, dressed down in jeans and a windbreaker, nodded, "Chapelle caved. They're meeting at the football field at nine. We have a chance to get them all in one swoop. She crossed her arm, "You in?"

Jim had said that Sybil Hart wasn't a cop. Sofia could agree, but there was something there, a cockiness, that Sofia recognized. "I'm in."

* * *

A migraine pounded at his temples, but he sat stiffly behind his desk, listening to the Sheriff. He didn't have time to hold the politician's hand and comfort him. Kara Johnson was lying in one of Doc Robbin's drawers and there was a team going now to arrest the sadistic sons of bitches who had been terrorizing the city. The Sheriff had been, though, too busy chatting to the press and running for re-election to be bothered to keep up with little things like the biggest case Vegas had ever seen.

"Gil, this is a cluster fuck. The Mayor has had the President up his ass this entire time, demanding to know why we've still got a bunch of home-grown-sickos blowing up the city. I've got a dead SWAT Jockey, a half-blown up reporter, your weirdo girlfriend is raising hell, and if you haven't checked, it's less than a week until Election Day."

"No, I haven't checked. I've been a little busy here." He rubbed at his throbbing temple. Every sound was like a spike in his brain. "We've got a suspect in custody and a team going in right now for the rest of them. We've not been crowing about it to the press because the Gag Order that you demanded is in place. My people are spread thin and are working hard. A case doesn't..."  
The Sheriff grunted, "Doesn't solve itself, I know that Gilbert."

He frowned, "I need you to be at a Press Conference. You need to reassure the people that we've got these bastards. They trust you, Grissom." He frowned, "Now that I think of it, maybe we should throw Sidle up there too. The press_ loves_ her." Grissom opened his eyes, "Sara is not a performing bear, she's a CSI, a very busy one. We're all up to our eyeballs in work, here, so if you'll excuse me..."

"No. I don't excuse you, Grissom. You forget you work for me, and I say you and your _star pupil_ will be there tomorrow morning. You will play nice with Agent Hart and you will tell Vegas that everything is okay." He got close to Grissom, almost nose to nose. "Let me make this very clear, Grissom. You're replaceable. You and your whole team can be replaced with little fuss or muss. They're all walking fine lines, Willows, Sidle, Sanders, all of them. Conrad would enjoy finding their replacements. You don't cooperate with me on this, you can kiss this job and this lab goodbye."

Shaking with indignation, Grissom met his eyes, "Is that a threat, Sheriff? I tell the people how good a Sheriff you are, how hard you worked on this case or you smear this team and this lab, send us all packing?" The other man stepped back, "You're a smart man, Gil, I know you'll do right, but lets make this clear. That wasn't a threat, it was a promise."

He left Grissom standing there in the middle of his office. He slumped against his desk, head throbbing mercilessly.

Author's Note: Two chapters today. Hoping getting so much accomplished will lift my mood a bit.


	38. Chapter XXXVII: Bringing Chaos to Order

_Chapter XXXVII_

_Bringing Chaos to Order_

She strapped on her vest and slid into the passenger seat of the black and white cruiser. They went silently, no lights, no sirens. There came into the parking lot from every entrance. There were only five cars in the huge WLVU Stadium Parking Lot. They crept to the utility entrance, where the floats and cars for tomorrow's festivities were parked, where the Gods of Vegas were waiting for them.

The sleeves of her black hoodie were pushed to her elbows and her hair was hidden under a black hat. "Hand me the wrench, Brett." Angela Morton was stretched out under the Homecoming Queen's float. The parade would start with a bang, that was for sure. It would be the biggest strike of them all. The fireball from the stadium would be seen for miles around. All the floats were rigged; though she'd planted the bomb on That-Bitch-Chloe's float herself. Zane and Dani were in the stadium, slanting some smaller charges under seats and in the Press Box. Everything was going without a hitch.

When headlights shone into the small area, she frowned and shielded her eyes. "Is that Kevin? He's late." When another set of head lights came from the other side she dropped her wrench. When the blue lights and sirens started going, she heard Daniel's voice. "SCATTER!"

Heart in her throat, she ran, pushing by people, dodging around things. She heard yells of "You're Surrounded" and "FREEZE" but she kept running. She could see the door ahead of her, with the blessed glowing EXIT sign. She pushed forward. The door opened from the outside and silhouetted against the moon she saw...

"LVPD!" She skid to a stop and turned only to find herself staring down the barrel of a shot gun. The hands that held it on her didn't shake and the flame filled blue eyes that bore down on her held only hate. Angela Morton, AKA Lady GoV was suddenly and completely terrified because she saw her end in those eyes.

* * *

Sofia wielded the shotgun with a viscous glee and aimed it at the girl's chest. "GET ON THE GROUND!" She watched the girl's eyes dart around, looking for a way out. "Don't even think about it. Get down on the ground, Now" She cocked the shotgun with a deadly sounded ratchet. ON THE GROUND!" The girl put her hands up and sank to her knees. "Face down on the ground." She could see that the girl was trembling, but she followed the orders and Sofia followed her, not letting her aim waver. She put a knee in the girl's back to hold her in place and slapped the bracelets of the handcuffs on to her wrists. She recited the Miranda Rights by rote, in a hard, almost menacing voice. "Do you understand your rights as I've explained them to you?" She pulled the girl up and looked into her eyes. "Do you understand?" The girl's skin was cracked-ice-pale against her solid black attire. "Fuck you, Pig." Sofia jerked the girl around, "Sounded like a yes to me."

* * *

It was a rush, holding her gun at the head of a man who'd inspired so many to kill. She could end him and his reign of terror right now. That was the hardest part of her job - seeing it through. They'd lost plenty of agents giving in to the passion and righteousness of taking justice into their own hands. Daniel Lofty, The Emperor of the Gods of Vegas, didn't look so high and mighty now. Someone had tasered him hard and he had lost control of his bowels. Her nose wrinkled at the foul smell of fear and filth. It was hard to believe that the greasy, skinny prick had killed and had helped others kill so many. But he had. She stared him down, not blinking. Like all caged animals, he broke eye contact first. There were others there, seven in all. They were all cuffed and held at gun point. She looked around, "Where's the girl?" One of the uniforms frowned, "Took off running, Curtis went after her." Sybil nodded and looked around, they had more than enough cars to take each of the perps they'd taken down. "One perp and two cops to a car. No lights, no sirens, separate holding cells, I don't want to give them time to work out some little fairy tale to tell us."

She looked around and saw Curtis and a uniform marching the girl between them. The other woman frowned at the group of handcuffed kids. "Only eight? There could be more." Sybil nodded, those had been her thoughts exactly. "I've got a team running a perimeter search and the cars are being impounded. We'll flood the area, every street within a square mile will have a cop on it and Campus Police has locked down every building at the University." Sofia nodded and watched as Uniforms loaded Morton into the back of a car. "There's more. We have a long list of more kids who could be on this list." Sybil nodded, "And most of those names could be aliases, or those kids could be as innocent as babes." She watched the cars begin to pull away. "If I've learned one thing with this job, it's to take victories as they come." She looked at the younger woman, "And this was a victory, Curtis, savor it." Sofia nodded, "Pushing a high school student to the ground and cuffing her doesn't feel like much of a victory." Sybil only shrugged, "You did good work tonight, that's the bottom line here." She walked away, "Now, get back to the Precinct, you're technically Lead Detective on the case, so you're work isn't done."

* * *

Sofia watched the woman walk away. She watched the black and whites pull away, she watched as Warrick and Nick scoured the area, marking off perimeter and taking photographs. Hart was right, as much as it burned her to admit it. Her work wasn't done. She'd be there, in the interrogation room, demanding answers. She unstrapped her vest and walked over to the Patrol Car she'd come in. She carefully stored the shotgun away, and slid back into the passenger seat. The driver, Jack Collins, patted her on the shoulder, "Great work, Curtis." She nodded, "It's not over yet."

Author's Note: Another update, though I don't know when the next will be. Between phone company woes, and chapter eating email services I'm in a small crunch at the moment.


	39. Chapter XXXVIII: Bad Cop

_Chapter XXXVIII_

_Bad Cop_

These two were the most important, the other six could wait. Four of them: Gil Grissom, Jim Brass, Sofia Curtis and Sybil Hart stood in the hallway. Sybil inclined her head, "Since Curtis has already got the girl scared, she and Brass should talk to her first." Grissom nodded, "And we'll take Lofty." She nodded, "They get belligerent or violent, pull out and we'll switch off. The impact of Vegas coming at them, backed up by the Government, will go a long way to push them into confessing." Brass shook his head, "We don't need confessions, not really." Sybil shrugged, "It's all apart of the deal. The girl has her attorney and advocate present?" Sofia nodded, "Harmon is getting a real work out on this one, she's gung-ho to defend all of the minors. Not that he" She jabbed her thumb at the room where Lofty was being held, "Doesn't have some fire power. The blood suckers are really rushing in on this one." Sybil frowned, "Don't let Harmon steam roll you and don't react to her shenanigans. She'll talk big talk but don't bat an eye." Brass smiled, "Walk in the park." He opened the door and motioned Sofia in, "Let's get this over with."

* * *

Sofia walked, no she strutted, into the room. "Well, Harmon, you've been a busy busy girl. Defending her and Chapelle, you're a glutton for punishment." The perfectly coiffed brunette met her gaze, "My client has bruises from your little take down, Detective Curtis." Sofia, feeling just a little cocky, took her seat and turned it around. She sat in the chair backwards, letting her arms fold across the back of the chair. It wasn't often that she got to, in layman's terms, play the bad cop, but that didn't mean she didn't know how to play the game. "I followed procedure to the letter, and I have a witness to that fact." Harmon cocked an eyebrow, "Shoving a shotgun into a sixteen year old girl's face and throwing her to the ground, grinding her face into the cement while you cuff her, is procedure?" Sofia rolled her eyes, "I did not throw her down or rub her face into the ground. She's being dramatic and it's not going to work." 

Diedre Harmon wasn't one of the most successful defense attorneys in the nation for no reason. She didn't just attack the case, she put every single person who'd touched it under the microscope. "So this was nothing like when you took down McQueen."

Sofia raised a brow. "Someone has done their homework. Too bad this is the wrong class, Harmon. We're here to talk about Andrea and her little plot to blow everyone in that stadium to Kingdom Come." She held up a finger, opened a file and dealt out photocopies and some pictures that Nick had rushed her like a dealer in a casino. "A direct threat on her little web page. Read it for yourself." She leaned back for a moment and took a toothpick out of the pocket of her slacks and eased the wrapper off. She put it in her mouth and watched the lawyer and the advocate go over the pages. Harmon put the papers down. Sofia smirked, "You didn't even get to the part where she cursed everyone out, Harmon." She shrugged and slid another picture forward. "Now this is hot off the printer, from the stadium where we interrupted their attempts to wire up an entire stadium, that would have been packed to capacity tomorrow, to blow sky high." Harmon put her hands on the table, "Attempt, Detective. My client was there when others were planting explosives. If anything she's an accessory prior to the fact." Sofia cocked her head to the side and took the toothpick from between her teeth. "Oh, so you admit your client is guilty?"

The girl bolted, trying to stand up, forgetting that she was handcuffed to the table. She was stopped short of wrenching her wrists when her advocate, Julianne Piedmont, put a restraining hand on her shoulder. She should have put one over the girl's mouth. "I didn't do nothing! You don't have anything on any of us! I want to see Daniel! I want to get the hell out of here and go home! I know my rights, you can't keep me here!"

Sofia looked at Piedmont, "You didn't get the brightest bulb in the chandelier here, did you?" She stood up, "Since your lawyer probably didn't use small enough words for you, let me break it down for you, Little Girl. You're being charged with Terrorism. That's a big crime, one that doesn't get you detention and cafeteria duty after class. You'll spend the rest of your pathetic life staring at four walls in a Federal prison somewhere, in solitary. No iPods, no _Veronica Mars_, no chat rooms. That's if, of course, Nevada doesn't put a needle in your arm." Sofia chewed on her toothpick. "Instead of Prom you'll be eating your last meal in a concrete bunker surrounded by razor wire." She shrugged, "It's only what you deserve, you sniveling little bitch." She'd thrown that last little bit in on whim, fuel for the fire. The girl was beyond pale now. It looked like she was going to vomit or mess herself, or both. Harmon leapt to her feet, spouting off about psychological abuse and evidence, motions and hearings. Sofia just leaned against the wall, chewing on her tooth pick.

Jim sighed, "Look, kid" He slid a pad of paper over to her, "We can do this the easy way or," He sent a glance at Sofia, and she smirked, "Or the hard way." Harmon looked at the pictures on the table and at her client. "Reel in your Junior Partner there, Captain Brass, and we'll talk."

"I-I'm not telling. If I do Daniel will kill my family, he said so."

It was a good try, Sofia decided, not very original but believable enough, especially when you paired it up with the rather unpretty tears and snot running down her face. "Bull Shit. Even if he did say that, you weren't over concerned about your family when you set a land mine to go off in your room. Oh yeah, we found that." Her eyes slid from the girl to the Lawyer, "I think hiding a bomb under her dirty laundry in her personal room proves intent." Sofia leaned on the table, her blue eyes meeting the girl's blood shot brown ones. "You almost killed a good friend of mine. You knew we would come after you and you laid a trap. The only person you care about is you. Write down everything you know, down to the smallest detail. Names, plans, everything and maybe, just fucking maybe, we'll consider taking the death penalty off the table."

Author's Note: AOL is holding the next three chapters hostage. I've got the negotiators in with them, but it's not looking pretty. It's a shame to...those were some damn good chapters.


	40. Chapter XXXIX: Better

_Chapter XXXIX_

_You're Better Then You Used To Be_

Orange wasn't a very flattering color on Daniel Lofty. Of course, Penitentiary Orange wasn't exactly the fashion fad of the month. The man looked more suited for a basement somewhere, arguing about _The Matrix Trilogy, _and singing the praises of Jay and Silent Bob. He was in, though, _her_ interrogation room. That made him _her_ problem to deal with; her prey. "So you're the man who calls himself the _Emperor_ of the _Gods_ of Vegas." She steepled her hands together and gave him a steady stare. "I have to admit, I'm a little underwhelmed." She took a long look at her nails, "I guess MySpace doesn't make the man." She shrugged, "Between your little web page and your little Apartment of Horrors, well, you've made our job incredibly easy." The lawyer, Vincent Morrow, spoke up and she waved him away, "Yes. Yes. Motion to Suppress and blah blah blah, send it to my Legal Team."

She almost smiled at Grissom's quirked eyebrow. "Since we caught you at the site of another crime, and found plans for further attacks," She opened a folder and laid out the pictures Sidle and Brown had taken at his apartment, "On the University's Student Center, and a half built bomb." She grinned ferally, "Well, it's an open and shut case, really." She leaned forward, "The leader of a home-grown terrorist cell, no jury in the civilized world would feel pity for you." She let that lie sink for a moment and Gilbert took her unspoken cue. "The melted fibers we found on the scene at the Bus Bombing is an exact match to a set of luggage that you bought just a month ago. It's a complete set, save for a missing carry on, a back pack, I believe."

Lofty sat there, stoically; nothing was getting to him. Sybil nodded and Gilbert pressed on. "Of course, the outstanding evidence is this." He slid an evidence bag forward so both the Attorney and the Accused could see. It was a photograph of Gina Marshall, the one that Warrick had taken from his apartment. "It's a little cut up, but that's clearly Miss Marshall, one of the people who lost their lives on Bus 27, and this" He slid a document forward, "Is the complaint she filed against you with the WLVU Campus Police."

Lofty ran his fingers along the plastic covered photograph's cheek. "We would have been good together." Grissom pushed another picture forward, it was of a charred body. "This is what she looks like now, because of you." The man shrugged, "A butterfly flaps his wings, Chaos Theory. Even if I _did_ do all these things you say, how could I have know the effects it would have?"

"Oh you knew." Sybil slapped her hands on the table. "You bragged about it to all of your Terrorist friends on the Internet. You killed twenty-four people when it was all said and done; one of those was a Fire Fighter with a wife and son." She stood up, "Of course as the self-proclaimed leader of this circle of Terrorists, you're responsible for every thing. The Saints and Sinners Bombing, the attempt we stopped tonight." She stared at him. "You brought the chaos you said you so desperately wanted to see the city fall into."

He smirked and stared right back at Sybil Hart. "Anarchy _is_ the natural order of things." Sybil stood up, "Anarchy. Is that what you're after, you little punk? All Anarchy does is allow the strong to run around unchecked. It's like the third grade play ground on a whole new level. The big and popular boys and girls rule over the not so great ones. Natural selection of the worse kind. You would last just about as long as a fat kid in a Dodge Ball game. You look like you were teased alot in school, Daniel. Were you the geeky kid? I bet you caught a lot of hell back in the day. What did they call you? Nerd, weirdo, fag, momma's boy?" She watched his face, each insult making him madder. She leaned in, her palms flat against the table, a sneer on her face, "Freak." He jerked at her, only to be restrained by his handcuffs and the meaty hand of the Sheriff's Deputy standing directly behind him. "Oh, you brought Anarchy all right, and I stomped it out. For every one of you sick little bastards out there, there are three of me, just waiting to stop you." She sat back down in her chair, "You're going away for a long time, Danny-Boy. Not that I think you'll live to see many more years. Nevada is one of the good old fashioned states that believes in the death penalty. Hell, we still string little bastards like you up from time to time.

She pushed the pad across to him. "You could go ahead and spill everything, but I'm not all that interested in reading your pathetic little story. Your friends, Kevin and Andrea? They've already spilled everything. Pointing fingers at you, Danny-Boy." She sneered, "Between their statements and our evidence. I'll put the needle in your arm myself."

She saw it in his eyes. He lunged, harder this time. She could actually see his veins throbbing in his skinny neck. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL! THERE'S MORE OF US! YOU'LL NEVER GET US ALL! YOU CAN'T CAGE US ALL! YOU CAN'T WIN!"

Sybil only tilted her head to one side, "I already have." The Deputy shoved him down and from the way Daniel winced, he did it none too gently. His face twisted and was flushed scarlet; he glared at her, "I'll kill you, bitch." He leaned back his head and snorted. Grissom moved to block it, but Daniel's spit hit Sybil right in the face. She held up a hand and daintily wiped the disgusting mess off of her cheek. She stood up, as if to go to the trash can, but turned on her heel and delivered a hay-maker punch to the handcuffed man's chin. She heard the lawyer start to spout off, but she was walking out. "You write down everything and do it now or I'll throw your pathetic ass into the General Population tonight. You'll be everyone's bitch before all the patriotic and Vegas-loving convicts kill you." She opened the door and left the room. She didn't slam the door behind her, she let it slide close with a click that sounded very final.

Gilbert Grissom watched Sybil leave and then he looked across the table at the man she'd just punched. He considered himself a civilized man, one of science and knowledge. He wanted to take a shot of his own. What was it? Old feelings that had never quite been doused? No. If it had been Catherine, Sofia or any other woman on his team, he would be just as outraged. Daniel Lofty looked at him, a trickle of blood coming out of a cut that Sybil's heavy ring had left on his face. "Nothing to say, you old fuck?" He paused for a moment, "You've killed almost a hundred people in this little reign of terror of yours and you're proud of that fact." Grissom shook his head, "All the wisdom in the world would be wasted on you." He stood up and looked at Vincent Morrow. The man looked like someone who'd booked a first class ticket on the Titanic, white as a sheet and stuck on a rapidly sinking ship. Grissom almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

He left them without another word. He found Sybil in her commandeered office, massaging her hand. He leaned against the door frame, "You're better than you used to be." She looked up, "At what, interrogating suspects or throwing punches?" Despite himself, Gil felt a smile come across his face. "Both." She chuckled, "Yeah, I've picked up a few things here and there along the way." She looked at her red and slightly swollen knuckles, "It hurts like Hell and" She frowned at her hand, "I broke a nail." She began to laugh, she leaned against the desk and laughed until she cried. He moved forward, unsure of what to do. He put a hand on her shoulder and she turned against him and leaned against his chest, releasing all of the terrible pressure of the case. All Grissom could think to do was pat her on the back.

Author's Note: After hours of arguing with AOL, the problem has been resolved. Stolen passwords, spam emails, yadda yadda yadda. Now I have to learn a new passowrd for every site and membership I have. The phone company has finally installed our basic line so I don't have to run to the library every day, which is nice. When they drag their butts out here and install our non AOL DSL line that's when they get a shiny medal.

The best way to start the Holiday Season, I've learned, is to witness two grown women come to blows over a Holiday Barbie at five thirty in the morning in the middle of the Toy Department. Honestly, it's hilarious.


	41. Chapter XL: The Reason

_Chapter XL_

_The Reason_

Sofia let herself into the Condo. It had been a god-awful long night. It was seven in the morning now and she had until Five p.m.. to sleep and prepare for yet another press conference. That was ten hours, at least two of those could be completely devoted to taking and being taken by her beautiful Sara. Sofia frowned and looked around. The living room was dark. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. Sara's circadian rhythm was so well adjusted to the Night Shift that she rarely turned on the lights, she just went straight to bed most mornings. Sofia envied that about her. What was unusual, though, was the fact that the dark room was silent. There was no music pouring out of the small speakers that Sara had insisted on installing. She knew the other woman was there, her Denali was in the drive. Worry began to eat at her; Sara _always_ turned on music. It was the first thing she did when she arrived home, it never failed. "Sara?" She began to move back through the short hall. She could see the dim light of the bedroom lamp burning. "Sara? Sweetie?" She pushed open the door and found that Sara's back was to her. She was rummaging in the drawers, still in her work clothes. Sofia was about to move behind her and rid her of the distractions of work clothes and pajamas when

* * *

She'd heard her as soon as the other woman unlocked the door. It was funny, Sara had never considered herself a very tactile person before, but she recognized the way Sofia jiggled her keys around in the lock and the smell of her subtle perfume when she entered the bedroom. The bedroom they'd redecorated together. That they had spent endless hours making love in. The bedroom that she thought...never mind. She stiffened up, but she didn't turn around. She didn't want to have Sofia, or anyone for that matter, see her crying. "I'm packing." Her voice was monotone, clipped and ice cold. Grissom, she decided, couldn't have pulled it off any better. Behind her, so close behind her, she could feel the body heat rolling off of her, Sofia jerked. "What? Why? What the _Hell_ is going on?" 

Anger raged through her, churning in her stomach, pounding in her head, rushing through her body. "You know why." She slammed the drawer and jerked away from the other woman. She didn't get very far, Sofia grabbed her arm. Sara jerked away again, backing up. "Don't touch me." Her voice wasn't cold now. No, now it was white hot, revealing how angry, and hurt, she truly was. Sofia maneuvered around her, putting them face to face. "No. I don't know why, but you are going to tell me. Now." Sara pushed by her and grabbed her bag. "I'm not playing this game with you, Sofia. If you don't know." She pushed her free hand through her already tousled hair. "Well you're the detective, go detect. Call me when you figure it out." She stormed out of the room.

She could sense Sofia coming behind her. Sara went straight to the kitchen's center island, where she'd put the damning evidence. Sofia obviously hadn't noticed it was gone, well Sara was going to make sure she knew now.

"Damn it, Sara! Talk to me! What the hell is going on?!" Sofia hit the switch and the kitchen, done in a warm yellow, was filled with light. "Don't you walk out on me. Not like this." Sara threw the bag down and turned to face the blonde woman. "What? You'd rather me go behind your back and do it?! Is that more your style, Curtis?" Confusion went across the face that Sara had spent hours memorizing. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"

Sara's hand swept across the bar, it sent the file flying to the floor. Photos, photocopies and printouts spread across the floor in a haphazard, chaotic mess. The chaotic mess of her past. The past that Sofia had gone behind her back and poked into. "You had a file on me?!" She glared at Sofia, fire in her deep brown eyes. "You decided you couldn't wait, didn't have to ask. You just went and ripped out all the information about Sara Sidle you could find?!" She kicked the empty folder. "Does it make you feel better? To know that you're the best, the golden girl? Is it some kind of fucking notch in your belt, taking care of the fucked up girl? Well FUCK you, Sofia!"

* * *

When she saw the file, she knew. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes went wide. Oh no. No. No. No. It wasn't supposed to be like this. How had she even found that? It hit her like a bolt from the blue. At the scene, when she'd gone looking for the first aid kit. She thought, oh God. Sara thought that she'd invaded her privacy. She'd never even dreamed of betraying the other woman's trust like that. She heard Sara's words (the neighbors across the street heard them). The words hit her like a sledgehammer, blow after blow straight to the gut. Sofia Curtis had never been one to cowl down and take her hits like a broken dog. Anger, hot and righteous, bloomed in her chest and exploded. Red hazed over her vision and she pounded her fists on her side of the island, the small bit of counter between them now. "SHUT UP!" She met Sara's heated gaze with a blue inferno all her own. "How dare you accuse me like this?!" She saw Sara's lips begin to form an answer. She cut her off. "This is not fucking evidence and this isn't between a CSI and a Detective. This is between you and me, Sara. It's not all pretty and laid out. There is no microscope or data bank to compare with. That folder." She threw her hands at the floor. "Was given to me by Maria-Fucking-Rymer. Why the Hell do you think I've been running to her with every little lead we got? Do you think I'm corrupt, that I'm a dirty cop to foil your picture perfect CSI role? I was putting my neck out to keep whatever is in there-" She waved her hand at the papers that she had refused to look at, "-private. She threatened to splash it all over the Noon News. If you don't want _me_ to know what causes you to wake up screaming and gasping for breath every other damn night; I fucking bet you don't want the entire metro-area to know." She planted her hands on the counter. "I didn't read any of that. I was going to hand it over to you when I had time. After this nightmare was all said and done. It's your life, Sara. As much as I want to share _everything _with you. I can wait. I fucking waited for two years to ask you to coffee. I fucking waited to make love for you

* * *

Sofia's voice, husky and accusing echoed off the walls. Even now, angry and yes, she could admit it if only to herself, scared, she found the other woman beautiful. Her words, peppered with curses, hit her like a F-5 Tornado. Metaphorically throwing her off her feet and leaving her dazed. Logic began to seep in around the razor barbed edges of all-encompassing anger and she began to catch up. Reporter, black mail, career threatening, for her. For her? "Wait. Wait. Wait just a damn minute." She held up her hands, "She was black mailing you for a story? Jesus Christ, Sofia, you could lose your badge!" The other things, about her almost dying hit her too, but that was unimportant. She'd been in that awful place, thinking she'd lost her career, and if Sofia...no. "What the hell were you thinking?! Are you insane or just stupid?! PEOPLE HAVE LOST THEIR CAREERS OVER LESS! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU RISK EVERYTHING LIKE THAT?!" The further she went, the more panicked she became. Like her, Sofia lived for the job, it was as much a part of her as her blonde hair, as her blue eyes, as that strange little accent she occasionally fell into. This was the Bell Shooting all over again.

* * *

Usually steady, always competent hands pushed blonde hair back and the other woman blew out a breath. "I was thinking about you. God Damn it, Sara, I love you."

Author's Note: Well, there you go. The first half of the highly anticipated (Immi has been having fits over it) of the "Sara Issues" scene. Don't get comfortable yet, folks, this story is not over.


	42. Chapter XLI: The L Word

_Chapter XLI_

_The L Word_

Sofia knew the words came from her heart. She knew she loved Sara. She wasn't just saying it, she loved the other woman with everything she was. The words stopped the other woman cold. The angry fire died down in her chocolate brown eyes and for the first time ever, it looked like Sara Sidle was completely speechless. Her mouth had dropped open and was moving, as if to speak, but nothing came out. Then, Sofia saw it. Fear, wild and unfettered, began to spread over Sara's features. The woman stumbled backwards, as if instead of confessing her love for her, Sofia had slapped her. It wasn't as if they hadn't used the L Word before. Sofia had often called Sara 'Love' or had told her she'd loved this about her or loved that about her. The anger was still there, burning a hole in her gut, but concern and common sense was wriggling it's way through to the forefront of her mind. She took a step forward, towards Sara. "Sara?"

The soft, almost whisper, of her name broke the spell that Sara had been under. She blinked and quickly clasped her arms around herself. "Don't. Don't throw around the L word like that. I won't let you use it like a weapon against me. That's wrong. Just fucking don't" Her doe eyes darted around, looking for an escape. Sofia wouldn't allow it, not now. She took two steps forward, closing the gap between them. "I'm not. This isn't a game, or a trick, Baby. I love you." She reached out and took Sara's hand and gently took it into her own. She felt the slight resistance, the flinch, but ignored it. She brought the other woman's hand to her breast and put it over her heart. She laced their fingers together and could feel the flutter of her own pulse. "It's real, Sara. As real as it gets. I love you."

* * *

How could Sofia's words be so calm, so sure? Love wasn't a toy, it wasn't something that felt so warm and comforting. Love was pain. Love was something that could turn cold and harsh, like a Winter night in the desert. Love was a weapon, an obligation. Love was a terrifying, mean spirited beast. How could Sofia say it like that? Say like she meant it? Say it so sweetly, so softly, so sincerly that Sara wanted to believe it? She had tried to jerk away, but Sofia took her hand and placed it over her own heart. The beat was steady, it was familiar. Sometimes, when Sara was feeling particularity dreamy or romantic, she liked to think that her own heart beat in time with it. She could feel tears, the traitorous salt drops, building behind her eyes. This couldn't be real, but she wanted it to be. She wanted it so badly that it hurt. It hurt but at the same time, the words reached deep inside of her and caressed the heart she'd been sure was shattered. "I-I" She stumbled over her own words. A soft finger came across her lips. "No. It's not an obligation, Baby. Don't say it until you know you can. No ifs ands or buts, Sara. Only when you're ready. I can wait." 

She didn't deserve her. Sara didn't deserve Sofia. Her sweet, sweet Sofia. She wanted to stay there, in her grasp. She wanted to forget the harsh words, the "fuck you"s and the screaming. She couldn't. _That_ was the kind of love she understood. The anger, the screaming...the hitting. Sofia didn't hit, though. She held her. Sara forced herself to look up, ready to see the hate blooming in Sofia's eyes. All she saw were tears. Suddenly she felt sick and so very weary. "Are we still fighting?" Sofia looked at her, "No. Not right now." She wiped a thumb over Sara's cheeks, drying her tears, then she swiped at her own. "No more tonight." She bent down and picked up the duffel. "You pick up this mess and I'll unpack your bag and we'll go to bed, okay?"

* * *

Sara sat on the floor, collecting the pieces of her past. Her Juvenile Arrest Record, one that had been closed, sealed, and should have never found it's way into anyone's hands without a court order. There was her Mother's mug shot. She stared at the picture. Laura had been about her age when this had been taken. They looked alike. Hadn't the woman always screamed that at her, that they were just alike? Sara shuddered and put it away. She hadn't hit Sofia. She hadn't thrown plates or any of the copper pots or iron skillets that were stored in their tidy kitchen. There had been no bags of oranges or broken glass. She'd used her words. Words, she knew, could go deeper than any bruise. The picture blurred in front of her teary eyes. She didn't want to be Laura, but it was in her genes, wasn't it? 

She put the file back together, arranging it the same way she would a file on any other perp. How long could she go without hurting Sofia again? She'd seen the tears in the other woman's ocean blue eyes. Those were her fault. She'd hurt her. She'd broken their trust. She'd accused, she... More tears began to burn behind her eyes, but Sara fought them back.

* * *

She hadn't meant to look, but God, the picture had been right there. Sara, so young, so very broken. She recognized the framing. It had been an SAE Rape Kit full-body frame up. Even in black and white she could see the bruises marring the gangly, too-thin frame. She couldn't have been any older then Lindsey Willows was now. She almost wished she had read the file so she could hunt down whoever it was who had hurt Sara and killed them, slowly. What had happened to her that put so much fear in the other woman's face. What had made her so ready to flinch away, as if expecting a punch? To hold herself as if she was afraid she was about to throw one? What had happened to Sara? She acted like love was some kind of disease or weapon. As if it was something to be feared, not cherished. Love. It was a big step for her. Sofia wasn't a woman given to throwing around the word like a Frisbee. She loved Sara. She loved her. 

But...

There was a jolt of pain in her heart. Sara didn't trust her. She had suspected, worked up an entire scenario in her head. She'd been ready to leave. To walk away from everything they'd built and could have had together. Could there be love without trust? Not for her. She needed everything, the whole kit and caboodle. Love, trust, forever, throw in a puppy and a picket fence. Maybe it was selfish, but it wasn't something she could change. It wasn't something she would change. Sara was her soul mate. That was saying something, especially since she hadn't been all that sure such a thing had existed a few years prior. She put a black tank top, Sara's favorite, back into the proper drawer. Her fingers rested on the fabric for a moment. Could she walk away from this, from them? She really didn't know. So much here, in the condo, in Vegas, was twined together with memories of Sara, or them together. She just didn't know.

Sara came to the door. She lingered there, her eyes locked on the floor. The file was gripped in her hands. "I." Sofia stood there. "Put it in your bedside table, Sara." Wordlessly she obeyed, but when she closed the drawer, she looked up. "I'm going to tell you. It's right you know about me, about my past, what I am, from where I come from." Her eyes rose and met Sofia's. "Just give me some time, please." Sofia tossed the empty duffel in the closet. "Of course."

* * *

They undressed silently, pale flesh was uncovered. They knew each other's bodies as well as they knew their own. Sofia knew where each and every ragged patch of tissue and exotic tattoo on Sara's body was and Sara had found every freckle and odd scar there was on Sofia. Under the quilt, one that had belonged to Sofia's paternal grandmother, they came together. Unconsciously, Sofia's hand went down to Sara's lower back, splaying over the still red and puckered scar there, as if protecting her from the Ghost of Madison Daniels. Sara's fingers traced across the still-healing bruises, now a sickly yellow, on Sofia's body. Sofia pushed that one pesky piece of hair back behind Sara's ear. Sara ran her fingers gently over the still-healing cut on Sofia's cheek. "Does it hurt?" Sofia shook her head. 

They laid there, together, skin to skin, hands settling over breasts and other erogenous areas. They didn't have the classic 'make-up sex', they just were. Though their eyes closed and their breathing evened out, neither woman slept. When they finally did give into unconsciousness, their rests were troubled by nightmares.

Author's Note: No, no flying objects in this chapter either. You violence junkies will just have to wait a few more chapters. Of course, you may be waiting a bit. is still being rather twitchy and it refuses to upload anything for me. Am I ranting? Maybe just a little bit.


	43. Chapter XLII: Reality

_Chapter XLII_

_Reality Is A Harsh Mistress_

The clang of the steel doors echoed down the short, dim and dingy corridor. Smells assaulted his nose, urine, sweat: humanity at it's worst. Manacles, hard, cold and heavy steel, were tightly locked around his wrists and ankles. They limited his movement and the leather belt they were attached to hung heavily off of his concave stomach. The orange jumpsuit was baggy in the chest and legs, but uncomfortably tight in the crotch. The rough cloth irritated his skin and the entire outfit smelled of not-quite-washed-out vomit and cigarette smoke. There was a bullet proof vest covering his chest.

There were calls from both sides. Hands grabbed at him; chants of 'fresh meat' and 'dead man walking' echoed all around him. The two correctional officers walked him to the end of the block and opened up a large metal door. Each man had one hand on him, their grips were harsh and bruising, and their other hands rested comfortably on the inhumane clubs they had clipped onto their belts. The Solitary cell was nine by nine and had a pathetic looking mattress on the floor, a lidless and less-than-sanitary looking toilet; a bare light bulb were the only other furniture. They threw him in and he landed on his face, unable to use his hands to break his fall.

They unlocked his chains and cuffs, one of them with the key and the other with the club out, tapping it against his palm, ready to strike. They left him and closed the door.

Daniel Lofty was alone in a small, silent room with only his own demons to haunt him.

* * *

She was being charged as an adult, her lawyer had told her that. What she hadn't told her was what that meant for her. Oh, she had said things about different court systems and procedures. She hadn't mentioned the fact that as an adult in the law's eye she wouldn't go to Juvie. Angela Harmon hadn't told Andrea Morton that she'd be taken to the Women's Wing of the Las Vegas Correctional Facility. No one had bothered to take her to solitary. She was shoved into a cell with five women who had nothing but time on their hands.

Her screams echoed down the halls only to be drowned out by bellows of 'SHUT UP' and 'FUCKIN' NEWBIES!'

Andrea, known as Lady GoV, or Andi to her friends, had been a beautiful girl. Under all the heavy makeup, dark baggy clothes and dye, she'd been a pretty girl. That pretty girl would forever bare the scars, both physical and mental, of her single night's stay in the General Population at the Las Vegas Jail.

* * *

Kevin Chapelle would never see his day in court. He never saw the outside of his cell. Ray "The Wall" Margera was one of his cell mates. Ray liked them young, Ray liked them scared. Ray was in Sam Braun's debt. Ray was a simple man who'd been using the revolving door of the prison system for most of his life. Time in Semi-Pro football and underground boxing and a sixth grade education gave him the ability to make only the simplest connections. Ray knew that if he took care of Chapelle, Sam might be happy. If Sam was happy, Ray's dime on the inside could be cut back to a nickel. From the grumblings and rumblings of the prisoners, he found out exactly who Chapelle was and what he had done.

Guards found Kevin Chapelle in the middle of the floor in a cell with four men who had been suddenly struck blind, deaf and mute.

* * *

They stood there, like ducks in a row, or champions at a dog show, he and Sara, flanking Ecklie and Jim and Sofia flanking the Sheriff. Sybil was at the podium. She was a picture, that was for sure. A sharp black suit, perfectly coiffed hair and a polished speech. She'd always been better at this part than he had. She handled the press as though she'd been born knowing how. Maybe she had, he didn't know. She exuded confidence and went through a short speech that highlighted all the pertinent information without revealing everything.

"This city, a miraculous oasis home to over seven million people, has been in the grips of terrorists of the worst kind. Children who lost their way, children of this city, of this nation. This morning they are behind bars, and we are all safe again." She paused, "And tomorrow, my team will be transporting them to a Federal facility to await trial."

Gil blinked, that was the first he'd heard of that. He had assumed that they would remain in Vegas, or at least Nevada for their trial. "This has been an important reminder for everyone that homeland security begins at home..."

Behind Ecklie's back, Gil met Sara's eyes. Their mutual thoughts were obvious, communicated with raised brows and scowls. They were being railroaded.

"We had agents working around the clock, and with the support of the LVPD we were able to not only catch the masterminds behind the attacks, we were given names of contacts in seven other American metropolitan areas that were planning attacks of their own."

Perhaps, Gil mused, it was pride but he doubted it. Anger rose up in his gullet. Agents? Support? Where had those "agents" been when Greg had been standing on a bomb? Where had those "agents" been when Kara Johnson had been killed? Where had those "agents" been when his team had been too tired to move?

He knew he wasn't the only ones thinking along those lines. Sara's face was impassive and stoic, but her hands were curled into hard fists by her sides. A bit away, Jim had his hand on Sofia's shoulder, obviously trying to keep the woman calm, though Jim didn't look particually happy either.

Ecklie and the Sheriff both looked chalk pale. This wasn't what they had been expecting. Sybil wasn't singing their praises nor was she patting them on the back. She had turned the entire case into a commercial for herself and the government body she worked for.

* * *

He wasn't surprised. He'd dealt with the Feds for too long to be surprised. He'd known Sybil Hart for too long to be surprised. He wondered if Washington was going to green screen in a big waving American flag behind her back. It would look better than the local shmuck cops standing behind her. He wasn't all that angry, not really. The perps were behind bars, no matter who took credit, and that was the important thing.

Sofia, on the other hand, well she was mad. Jim almost smiled. She was still young enough to have that fire in her. He understood why she was mad. It wasn't like he hadn't been working the same case she had. Greg had almost died, a good cop and a good Fire Fighter had died, Vegas had taken a big hit. They were still standing, though.

* * *

His dreams of re-election, of moving on to Governor, of glory and power, they shriveled right in front of him and the ashes blew away in the wind. The Mayor watched as Agent Sybil Hart took every scrap of credit, leaving him with bare bones. He looked to the Sheriff, his hand-picked man and sent a silent message. 'Fix This'

* * *

Sybil stood at the podium with an amazing feeling of accomplishment. She'd done exactly what had been expected of her and more. She could all but taste the commendation she would receive. The President, she decided, would make the presentation in the Rose Garden. This was Homeland's most visible, most successful collar to date. CNN would beg her for an interview. No Maria Rymers there.

She opened the floor to a few questions. The blood thirsty sharks began immediately demanding answers. Not all of the questions, though, were pointed at her. Gilbert was a face that Vegas trusted now. He wasn't comfortable with it, he never had been comfortable with the more public aspects of the job. He was a man of science. He was more comfortable tossing dummies around and peering into microscopes than he was with presenting an image. He'd done just that, though, without even trying. It was that Grissom charm. He had an undeniable aura about him. You wanted to trust him.

Vegas already trusted Sara Sidle. The fanfare that had buzzed around the Madison Daniels case was still there. If she were so inclined, Sidle could ride the wave of popularity, good feelings and unofficial title of "hero" all the way to Conrad Ecklie's position and higher. Given enough time, Sara Sidle could be the next Sybil Hart. No, Sybil thought sourly, Gilbert had hand-fed her his 'science over politics' song and dance for far too long. She would be the next Gilbert Grissom and that was a pity.

Speaking of the man, he fielded questions in a cool way, not letting his discomfort show. His words touched her and they smoothed a balm over the gaping wounds of the city. She'd never been big on his philosophizing, but in this case it did the job and did it well.

* * *

The Press Conference closed on a high note and the press began to disperse. Just inside the glass doors of the Sheriff's Department, the Mayor gave a sigh. He looked at the Sheriff, not sparing a glance at the CSIs and Cops still standing there. "She ripped that case right out from under our feet and you let her. It looked like we were half-wit puppies standing there, letting her do all the talking. You would have thought our people sat on their hands while Vegas was on the brink of the Apocalypse." He threw up his hands, "Just perfect!"

He stormed off, with the Sheriff hot on his heels.

Jim, Gil, Sara and Sofia stood there, watching the press leave. Grissom shook his head, "It shouldn't matter who gets the credit." Beside him, Sara shrugged, "This time it does, Griss. We worked to hard, risked too much, lost too much to be forgotten."

She wasn't just talking about the case. He wasn't exactly a mind reader, he didn't do well with personal matters, but he just knew that Sara wasn't just talking about the Gods of Vegas and their reign of terror.


	44. Chapter XLIII: Us

_Chapter XLIII_

_Us_

She was waiting for him when he arrived at home. Why wasn't he surprised? She knew where he lived; she had helped him pick out the Town House, in fact. Sybil had laughingly called it Chez Gilbert. She was leaning against the door, swinging a key around her finger. She smiled at him, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses. "You never changed your locks, Gilbert." She stopped swinging the small key. "My key still fits."

For lack of better things to do, he sank his hands in his pockets. "I'm surprised you still have one. You said you'd never come back." Sybil took off her sunglasses and let them dangle from her fingers. "Some things change, Gilbert." She took a step closer and ran her hand along his cheek, "And others don't."

She was beautiful, he couldn't deny that. The early morning sun caught the color of her hair as it fell around her face. Gone was the sleek suit she'd worn earlier. Now she was dressed simply. A deep green tank top and khaki slacks. Seeing her here, leaning against his door, dressed like she'd just been shopping and was ready to laze around a bit, it brought back memories. Memories that didn't need to come back.

Sybil in one of his button down shirts and sipping tea out of his favorite mug. Sybil gloriously naked, beckoning him to join her in the shower. Her laying on his couch, reading the Metro section of the paper while he did the crossword. Them together, in formal black, at a one night performance of _Madame Butterfly_. Her ripping the shirt he'd worn to the Opera open and pushing him onto the bed.

All the memories, though, weren't good.

_"It's the opportunity of a life time, Gilbert." She was laying, naked, beside him. They had a few hours before shift started and for right now the world consisted of their two bodies and the sweaty sheets between them. "You could come with me. Join with me." He turned to his side, "I don't know. The FBI? I'm no good with politics, Sybil. I'm just a scientist." She reached out and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Okay, so don't join the FBI. There are plenty of local crime labs there. DC, Richmond, the East Coast has crime too." She smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. "Or you can make Brown's year and do some teaching like they've been begging you to, Doctor Grissom." Close, they were wrapped around each other, her smaller frame snuggled up to his. "I'm too young to teach. I like Vegas, I don't see why you have to leave."_

_Cooler now, she sat up, letting the sheet fall away and pool at her waist. Her long blonde locks, the silken strands he loved to run his hands through, fell to mostly cover her lush breasts. It was her face though, that kept his attention. Two marks of red were forming along her delicate cheek bones and her green-blue eyes flashed dangerously. He saw the signs of a full-blown temper tantrum forming. "Sybil, Dear." She pushed her blonde hair out of her face and glared at him. "Don't you 'Dear' me, Gilbert." She crossed her arms, "What are you saying to me here? You're choosing Vegas, this little lab, over me?" He sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. "No. It sounds like you're choosing the FBI over me."_

_Light spilled over her sun kissed skin. "This is the biggest chance I'm going to get, Gilbert. If I don't take it, I'll be stuck here in Vegas my entire life." He lifted a brow, "What's wrong with Las Vegas, Sybil? We're the number five lab in the country and climbing." She shook her head, "I want more, Gilbert. I need more. I thought you'd understand. I'm not leaving you. I'm leaving Vegas and I want you to come with me. There are murders in every city in this country, but I'm only going to be in one." For a moment there was silence. He sighed, "But not Vegas." She shook her head, "I'm leaving at the end of the month." Emotions, feelings, thoughts, protests and so many words rushed through his mind, they screamed at him incoherently. The only thing he could force through his throat was, "The Lab will miss you." She threw her legs around and got out of the bed, naked and furious she threw a pillow at him. "The LAB will miss me?!" Her husky voice was livid, it echoed fury and resentment off the walls of his bedroom. "I know there's a heart in there, Gilbert, I've felt it beating. Don't throw the lab in my face. You're just being a coward. Too afraid to live up to the reputation you've worked up. You're the King around here and you won't leave your castle. Not even for me! I thought we had something!" He sat there in the middle of the bed, staring at her. "So did I."_

She'd stormed out that day and had left him. She'd slammed this very door behind her, screaming she'd never be back. She had been done with Vegas and done with him. Sybil stood there now, looking at him with a small smile on her face. He could feel an all-too-human response building. Beyond the physical, though, there was the logical and the emotional. Two against one. "No." He stepped back, out of her reach. "We can't do this." She closed the gap between them again and caught his lips with her own. The brief contact added fuel to the physical fire and a part of him, very deep down, wanted to forget everything for a minute. He raised his hands and put them against her shoulders. Pleased, she moved closer. He pushed her away, breaking the kiss. "I said 'stop', Sybil." He could see the aggravation in her eyes. "We used to be good together, Gilbert. We still can be." He shook his head, "It's too late."

The irony of his own words did not escape him.

She pushed her hands through her hair. "What is it? Am I not young enough for you anymore?" Her green-blue eyes flashed and even after fifteen years he recognized the signs. She was about to unsheath her claws. A smarter man would have run away. Never let it be said again that he was too smart. "No. I see what it is. I'm not a brunette clone of you. The rumors are true, aren't they? That little bitch lied to me. You're fucking Sara Sidle." He'd forgotten how crude she could get when she was truly angry. "That's why she turned down the FBI and every other lab in the country. You've got your hooks in her and Little Miss Harvard is too dumb to rip them out." He couldn't help it, he smiled. "I can guarantee that _Sara_ is not staying in Vegas for _me_." She crossed her arms, "It's that other one then. That redhead in the sports car. What's her name, Lady Heather." She shook her head, "She's a hooker for God's sake, Gilbert. High class maybe, but a whore is a whore." She glared at him. "Is that what you've fallen to? You used to have taste. You used to have common sense."

The remarks about Sara were uncalled for, but all he would have to do was call Sofia. The Detective would probably corner Sybil in the ladies room and quietly beat her to death; and wasn't it amusing that he would find that just a little bit amusing. Heather, though, was a different matter. "Not that it's any of your business, but Heather is a business woman and if I chose to spend my time with her, that's between us." Sybil threw up a hand. "A business woman? I've looked into it, Gilbert. She runs a goth brothel where _freaks_ go to get spanked. Is that how you spend time with her? Jesus, Gilbert, what's happened to you?"

There were times, Gil knew, to let things lie but there were others when you had to stand up for yourself...and those you held dear. "Like you said, things change, Sybil. I've changed. I spent years mourning what we had. I've moved on. I've made a life for myself where politics and image don't come first. Do you really think I could throw everything to the side and take you to my bed today? What, was it going to be just like old times, Sybil? You took over the case. You let my people work themselves into the ground. Greg almost _died_. Then you go in and take all of the credit and act like we were your performing monkeys, grabbing your non-existent agents' coffee. Sybil drew herself up to her full height, she always looked taller when she was mad. "Don't make this about the case, Gilbert. This is about us, Gilbert: you and me." He shook his head, "It's never been about us. I don't even know if there was ever an 'us' to begin with. It's always been about you: Agent Sybil Hart and her case. Your case, your perps, your reputation. I bet you've already bought the suit you're going to wear for your presidential commendation."

Because he was right, her face went even redder. "I don't have to stay and take this Gilbert. You aren't worth the head ache." He shrugged a single shoulder, "I could say the same for you." She slapped him hard across the cheek. His head jerked to the side and the sharp crack of flesh on flesh was sharp and final. The pain shot from his cheek to his mind, thoughts and anger exploding like a mini-supernova through his synapses. The love he had once thought he'd had for her; the pain of her leaving; his fury at her showboating around and putting his people in danger; her remarks about him, Sara and Heather; fifteen years of her not being there; years of every sentence being punctuated by 'Gilbert', it all swirled around like a Hurricane in the Gulf, building up unimaginable power. His stomach burned with bile, his vision clouded over with a fine red mist. He felt his face go hard and fire hot, his molars grinding against each other. He focused every ounce of passion and unbridled outrage at her through his eyes. His pulse soared far beyond his normal ninety-five and for a moment, he wanted to indulge his inner violent demon. The blonde woman before him, the vixen whose memory dogged his every step and taunted him from the past suddenly wilted. The acidy retort died on his tongue and he saw something in her eyes - fear. Good, he wanted her to be afraid. If his mother hadn't raised him with sound morals, Sybil would have long ago felt the pressure of his fingers around her swan like neck. Pent up emotions bubbled to the surface and his hands clenched into fists. He saw her go pale. She could see his fists, his anger, Sybil Hart took a step back. Some things did change, she was truly scared of him. Scared to the point that her hand reached for the weapon that was not on her hip.

"Goodbye, Sybil." He turned, and opened the door (Had Sybil unlocked it or had he just forgotten to lock it the last time he'd left? Did it matter?) and went in. He shut it behind him, but he could hear her strangled scream of embarrassed fury through the wood. He stood there with his back to the door, looking at his neat and tidy townhouse. Maybe it was time to redecorate...maybe Heather would have some ideas.

That thought threw him a bit. The fight with Sybil, it didn't hurt. It was tiring, even annoying, but it didn't hurt. Now that she was gone, he felt better. He felt free, like he'd thrown off the last of her hold over him. He reached for the phone and dialed Heather's private number.

* * *

The blonde let out a hoarse curse and kicked the door hard. She paid for it though. She whirled around, grimacing and holding her high-heel clad foot. He'd never heard a woman, certainly not one old enough to be his mother, use all those words in quite that context. She stood there for a moment more and sulked. She shoved her hands into her pockets and went back to her big black SUV and drove away. With the door closed and the woman gone, he let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. He shouldered the now empty backpack and started the long walk back to the bus stop. His work was done and in a few scant hours, he would have his victory. It was just like Daniel said, you could never cage Chaos. Mr. CSI Grissom was going to be learning that lesson the hard way. He gnawed on his lower lip as he walked. This was the right thing to do, wasn't it? Avenge Daniel, Andrea and Kevin. You hurt us, we hurt you. A voice sounded off in his head, "There is a line between defending yourself and assault" He squashed that stupid voice and the spurt of guilt that came along with it. 

Author's Note: Well, I think that puts Sybil in her proper place, but we're not done yet! Please keep your hands and feet inside and do not attempt to exit the vehicle until it has come to a full and complete stop. Hold on tight, keep those reviews coming and enjoy the thrilling conclusion (I am such a ham) of the 'Of Vegas' Trilogy.


	45. Chapter XLIV: Follow Up

_Chapter XLIV_

_Follow Up_

"I don't know. Everything's gone so crazy lately. All this stuff that's been happening. The explosions and all...it's really shaken me up. My son is the same age as that ring leader they got. Jake is off at West Point, he's a good boy." Forty-nine year old Nolan McCabe had, in the same few months, gone through a divorce, lost a promotion to a younger colleague, found out his daughter had eloped, and his mother had succumb to cancer. All things considered, suicide had seemed, in his own words, like a good idea at the time. Now, two months later, things were looking up for Nolan. Cami was very pleased with his progress. He was still grieving over his mother, but was no longer easing the pain with whiskey; he had stopped calling his ex wife thirty times a day begging her to take him back, and after a lot of coaching, had called his daughter for the first time since the disastrous _talk_. He also hadn't been jamming revolvers down his throat or attempting to leap from buildings, which was the main goal of the intense three days a week therapy schedule.

His progress and general likability bought him a lot of slack, especially when he stole glances at her legs or his eyes strayed to her bust. "They caught them, though, Nolan. Things have calmed down." He nodded, "I know that. It's just, it's made me do a lot of thinking." She nodded, "About what?" He shrugged, "About life mostly. You know you would think I'd think of death. So many people have died. Allot of them were just kids, you know. Twenty year old kids with stars in their eyes." Because he was right she patted him on the arm. "It's been a tragedy."

Dr. Parker's face was stoic, she was the healer. Underneath, Cami wanted to cry. This man really had no idea what he was talking about. She had delved into the middle of it, surrounded herself by the gut wrenching horror of it all.

"I called Phoebe again." Phoebe was his daughter. "We're going out to dinner tonight." She smiled, "That's excellent progress." He smiled, "And while I was out, at lunch with a colleague yesterday." He beamed, "I flirted with woman at the bar." Genuinely pleased, she grinned, "You did not!" He nodded, "I did, and no, she didn't look a bit like Gwenni." Gwenni was his ex-wife. "I actually got her number!" He grinned like a school boy. "I know I'm not all better or anything, but one night I was watching the news and it just sort of hit me. _I_ could have been one of those people who died." He looked at her, his brown eyes wide with an odd wonder. "And I realized that I didn't want to be. I don't want to die anymore, Doc, I want to live." He shook his head, "I actually had a chuckle over it. I sat there, looking at that kid whose picture they showed on TV. He was spouting off about Chaos and Anarchy and I thought. I thought, Hell he's the one that needs therapy, not me!" He grinned and shook his head, "Not that I don't need you or anything, Doc." He smiled at her, "You know me, Crazy Nolan, I might try to throw myself out of the conference room window during the next quarterly meeting or something. Well, that's what all the boys in Accounting say anyway."

When his fifty minutes were up, Cami sat thinking. She looked out of her window at the view. The view had been what sold her on this particular office suite. It was expensive, but she needed a view. Vegas was laid out before her in all of it's glittery glory. The neon was off for the moment, the desert sun provided more then enough light. She stared out at it, aimlessly thinking. She eased out of her heels and tucked her feet underneath her in her leather desk chair.

She'd always been a glass-half-full sort of girl herself, but she'd been hard pressed to find any light in the murky muck and mire of the bloody games the Gods of Vegas had played with people's lives. Nolan had found something in the mess, motivation. It had been a much needed wakeup call for him. She shook her head, some people needed to be whacked over the head with a two-by-four before they opened their eyes.

She ran her fingers through her short black hair. She had a pretty short day, all things considered. That was her fault. She had told her receptionist that she wasn't taking any new patients this week and to stall all walk-ins to next week barring emergency. Karen might be a little lack-luster in the personality department, but she understood how much stress Cami was under. At this rate _she_ was going to go and see a therapist. She chuckled, and that therapist would go to another therapist and so on it went. Was there a therapist out there who just saw other therapists? If so, who did he or she go see? She rubbed at her eyes, "Oh, Cami, babe, you seriously need a break." Since she was talking to herself, she figured she should at least give herself the courtesy of listening. She put her feet up on the desk and leaned back, arm over her eyes. Her mind, though, was never at rest. She was, in that respect, just as bad as Sara. Her thoughts wandered around, not on a single, coherent string of thought. As her brother would say, trying to follow her train of thought was like trying to catch a kleptomaniac ferret on a sugar rush at a coin collector's convention. Images faded in and out in her mind's eye. Some were nice: Wendy Simms in the curve-hugging lab coat. Others were not as comforting: Daniel Lofty's dead eyes and ten-mile stare. Snippets of conversations she'd had, sessions she'd sat through ran through her mind:

"_My dad doesn't understand me."_

"_From Chaos we came and from Chaos we must return. So sayeth the Gods of Vegas."_

"_It's ripe with DNA."_

"_So you're saying it's not my fault?"_

"_Well, we all can't go jet-setting around on Daddie's money petting shop-a-holics and whiny Momma's boys on the head, can we?"_

"_He's the one that needs therapy, not me!"_

"_I stand up for myself and I'm a threat."_

"_If you ever get tired of Head Shrinking, we sure could use you around here, kid." _

"_Fuck you all!"_

She sat up, something was nagging at her. There was something, something important hovering at the back of her mind. It was a fuzzy feeling, like knowing you'd forgotten something but not knowing what or knowing the answer for a test but not being able to bring it to your mind. _Something _was there. She massaged her temples. "Oh C'mon!"

It hit her hard and fast, like an out of control car in a street race. "Oh!" She sat up so quickly she almost lost her balance. She ripped her bottom drawer open and began riffling through files. "Oh God. Please. Please. Please be there." She pulled out the thick folder she'd made up for the Gods of Vegas. She opened the file and started flipping through it like a mad woman. "Damn it. Damn it. I'm not crazy. Where the hell is it?! She found the passage she'd printed out and marked. "Damn."

She went to a different drawer and riffled through a collection of carefully labeled mini cassette tapes. She put the one she wanted into the player and rewound, fast forwarded it, rewound it again until she found what she was looking for. The wording was almost exact. She wanted to hit herself. It had been under her nose the entire time. Scared now, she booted up her laptop and sat it on top of the papers she'd strewn across her usually immaculate desk. She cursed at it as MySpace loaded. She clicked and entered and cursed more as the page she requested came up. She scrolled down and felt the blood drain from her face. She had one hand over her mouth while the other groped for the phone. She dialed the numbers from memory and when she got the receptionist, she wasn't even embarrassed that her voice was shaking.

"I need to speak to Captain Jim Brass. Now. It's urgent. I don't care. Tell him it's Doctor Parker." Anger spiked through her as the receptionist started giving her the run-around. "Damn it, woman, this is a life and death situation. I'm not calling a Homicide Capitan to talk about the fucking weather! Put him on NOW. There's been a threat. Yes, I'm fucking serious! Now transfer my call before I come down there and put my size eight stiletto up your bimbo ass!" There were beeps and boops and finally she heard the familiar Jersey accent. "Brass, this is Parker. I need your help..."

Author's Note: And it's Cami to the rescue; but what does she know that we don't? Somone cue up the Orchestra, we need some dramatic music.


	46. Chapter XLV: Sense of Self

_Chapter XLV_

_Sense of Self_

Her private area was open to all. His was not. Being asked to come to his home was an invitation to the inner sanctum of Gil Grissom. It would be, she mused, like the Bat Cave, only with insects and not bats. That thought made her smile as she parked her car, the sports car again, by his much larger truck.

He opened the door for her and offered her a hand. He led her inside and she looked around. The Town House was both less and more then she had expected. "I saw you on the news this morning, you were very eloquent." He smiled, "Is that a nice way of saying I let the press walk all over me?" She tilted her head; the movement sent her hair tumbling over and down one shoulder. "Something about you is different. You seem more." She shook her head, "You just seem _more_." She started to smile, "You've found your balance again." Something, was it lust or amusement, twinkled in his blue gray eyes, "Around you, never." She didn't want to be, but she was charmed.

He led her back through the rather spacious living room to a nook off of the kitchen. The area was too soft and completely too feminine to be one that he had decorated himself. At a small table, the table she supposed he ate most of his meals, he'd set up a generous tea. He smiled at her, "I hoped you would take tea with me." She took the seat he pulled back for her, "We do seem to communicate well when the superficial trappings of civilization are between us."

She watched him pour the tea; he remembered she took cream but no sugar with hers. She took a sip and gave him an approving smile, "You're not going to interrogate me this time, are you?"  
He froze with his cup halfway to the saucer. "I hadn't planned on it, no."  
She twirled her spoon in her tea, making the cream spin, and mix with the aromatic tea. "I suppose you've had enough of that from _her._"

The look of absolute horror on Gilbert Grissom's face was classic. She chuckled, "We both have our pasts, and mine is much more _colorful_ then yours. You have nothing to be ashamed of."  
He visibly relaxed, "They say all that is past is prologue." She folded her hands together and rested her chin on them, "So is this Chapter One of the next Great American Novel...or a bawdy yellow-press throw away?"

* * *

He'd never met a creature like her. That was probably a good thing. The world wouldn't be able to handle more than one of her. She was a rare and precious jewel, one of the true wonders he'd seen in his many years. She was intelligent, and cultured, and yet… Yet, she was a woman who made her living on what was aberrant. Her Dominion was a haven for the acts and obsessions that the civilized world would never understand. She was an enigma, a set of contradictions in herself. She took high tea dressed in a studded leather corset.

Here she was, giving him the reigns, the control. They were, very subtly, speaking a language. A language that he didn't fully understand yet, one he barely knew he was speaking in. "She didn't know you."

He blinked, surprised, though he shouldn't have been. This was the woman who had realized that he'd been losing his hearing before anyone else had. She'd seen right through the ruses that had kept those he sees night in and night out fooled. He couldn't look away from her, couldn't break the intense eye contact. Her emerald green eyes were powerful, beautiful, and he couldn't make himself, didn't want to make himself, look away.

"She tried to mold you into what she wanted to be. She left you. She left you confused and unsure of yourself. You rebuilt everything, had your entire world set straight, but she came back." She shook her head, "In some ways, you never let her go." She looked around the room, "There are touches of her everywhere. You didn't pick out this color, or this table even, and after she left you never changed it." He shifted in his seat, suddenly conscious of how much he _hadn't_ changed. "You had tied so much of yourself to her that you were somewhat lost without her, but as I've said, you found yourself again."

It was a rare person that could leave him as utterly tongue tied as she did. He was sure that if he dedicated the rest of his years to it, he might get half a handhold of just exactly who and what Heather was, then again, perhaps not. "Sybil isn't for me anymore. We don't speak the same language." He shrugged, "I said stop and she didn't hear me. More tea?" He refreshed both of their cups and for a moment there was silence.

* * *

She sipped at the second cup of tea, "And do you think that now we are speaking the same language?" She was rather taken aback by his answer. "No, but I'm open to the possibility of becoming fluent." She raised a brow, "That would take dedication and trust, and a solid sense of self. Do you think you're ready?" She could see the small flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but she saw something else. Something she knew and recognized, something she'd wanted to see in those stormy eyes for a very long time. She saw want and she saw hunger. He only had to ask, she could not make the final step for him, no matter how much she wanted to.

* * *

The power, as she'd once mentioned to him, was that of the submissive. Was that his role? He didn't know, but he did know, understood, and translated from the message in her smoldering eyes, that she would not move forward. The rest of their day, the rest of their relationship - or whatever it was they had or could have - were in his hands. He rose and went around the table, until he was standing in front of her. In an uncharacteristic move, she tilted her head back, so that their eyes still met. She was looking up at him; he could see himself reflected in her eyes.

The Masters would have painted her in heavy and expressive oils. The deep autumn auburn of her hair, the alabaster of her perfect skin, her lovely crimson lips and the overpowering and soul piercing wicked emerald of her eyes. His fingers, thick and callused slid into her silky hair. He was leaning down, ensnared by her intoxicating scent. It was so different than Sybil. Sybil had always been like champagne, which he'd taken to become euphoric and to find some sense of completion. Heather was like the sweet water of an oasis. He _needed _her not to intoxicate himself, but to complete himself, to live. Their breath mingled together and those bewitching eyes fluttered. She didn't say stop. He moved in with a smoothness and confidence that didn't seem to be his own. Their lips met. There was no grand epiphany or a sudden swell of cello music, no lights flashed behind his closed eyelids. There was a great rush, like a damn bursting within him. He felt her hands find a place on her shoulders. For a moment, the bliss stalled, but instead of pushing him back ,she pulled him forward, closer to her.

Years (or had it only been seconds?) later, they broke apart. She smiled at him, and what a smile it was. He felt it go through him, further heating his already boiling blood. In that moment, just after their first, and before the rest of the hundreds of kisses he hoped they'd share, he knew that he was irrevocably hers, and he wasn't afraid. He started to pull away, but she held him fast, "No. Let me finish." Her voice was low and melodic and sweet. Had he known that this was going to be the last time he heard it, he might not have pulled her in for another soul-searing kiss.

Author's Note: That was the single most mentally taxing bit of CSI writing I've done to date. I hope everyone enjoys it, because it took about three days to lay out, write and refine.


	47. Chapter XLVI: Fire Away

_Chapter XLVI_

_Fire Away_

Catherine frowned at the phone that was merrily chiming away in her purse. Across from her, Sara unlatched hers from her hip. They had met for lunch, and for a little girl talk. Sara was, in her own quirky little way, explaining what had happened between her and Sofia. It was awkward, to be sure. A year ago, the brunette would have rather sawed off her own tongue with a rusty butter knife than mention one tidbit of personal information to anyone, especially her. They were working through that, though. At Catherine's raised eyebrow, Sara flipped the silent cell phone open, "It's set to vibrate." The sarcastic and slightly perverted remark died on Catherine's tongue as she read the text she'd just gotten. She felt her hands go numb around the phone. She looked up and saw that Sara had gone chalk-pale. Catherine tossed a twenty on the table and they both got up. Outside in the parking lot, she decided that speed outweighed her own personal safety. She tossed Sara her keys. "Drive." They left tire tracks behind them as they pealed out of the tiny diner's parking lot.

* * *

She usually ran alone. Just her and the rhythm of her feet slapping the pavement. It had been Nick who suggested she run the indoor track at Bert's Gym with him. The whole ritual had started while Sara had still been in the hospital. He said she needed to stop splitting her time between work and the hospital and she'd told him where to go. He'd brought her around, and besides, who could resist that Texas twang. She had needed to rant and run, anyway, why not have company? Nick was a good listener, and despite his reputation as a shallow ladies ' man (locker room talk), he had a lot of insight. It wasn't like she was spilling everything that had happened to her, but he got the basics of the battle she and Sara had waged between them. More importantly, he took her mind off of it and the shambles of the Gods of Vegas case. He was midway through a story about his Frat Boy days when the pinging of their phones stopped him. They broke their pace and pulled off to the side of the track. Nick rummaged around in his gym shorts pocket and Sofia pulled her cell phone out of the large front pocket of her gray LVPD hoodie.

Despite the sweat pouring off of her face, she felt cold, ice cold. Beside her Nick was shaking his head, "Aw no. No. No. We got these guys. This is some kind of hoax, it's just not happening." Sofia looked up from the text. "It's happening." Without another word, they started running towards the exit. It wasn't the almost lazy jog they had been doing, but a full out, adrenaline fueled sprint.

* * *

Catherine held on to the handle inside of the Denali's door. She understood why Lindsey called it the 'Help Me Sweet Baby Jesus Handle' now. They took a turn on what Catherine was sure was two wheels. Sara looked the same way driving as she did when she was working through a tough case: frighteningly focused. Her knuckles were white from her tight grip on the steering wheel. They had their lights flashing, but no siren. Sara made up for that little department oversight by laying on the horn if anybody dared to get in her way. Catherine recognized the neighborhood that was blurring by them. They were going to make it in record time. She could see the Town House, whole and unharmed ahead. She also saw the Black Tahoe speeding towards it from the other direction, coming right at them. Pure instinct had her stomping on the imaginary brake on her side of the car. "SARA!" She threw her hand over her eyes and prayed that the airbag would do its job.

Had Catherine's arm not been shielding her face, she would have seen Sara jerk the wheel to the side and wrench the parking brake, sending the heavy SUV into an uncontrolled one-hundred and eighty degree spin. The Denali jerked to a stop inches away from the Tahoe. Sensing that they were no longer moving, but had not been hit, Catherine uncovered her eyes. She could actually see the whites of Nicky's wide eyes behind the Tahoe's steering wheel. Sara already had the door open and was getting out.

She got out, relieved that neither she nor Grissom's home was any worse for the wear. "You almost killed us for no reason and every thing's fine." Nick, dressed in an old Texas A&M teeshirt and gym shorts, let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. We'll just go in and tell Griss and...I didn't know he had one of these babies."

Catherine shook her head, "He doesn't, that's Heather's." Nick blinked, "Wait. As in _Lady Heather_. As in whips and chains and eew?"

Sara rolled her eyes, "I don't care who he's with, we've got to get him out of there." She started up the stairs to his door. A step behind her, Nick reached out. "Sara, wait!"

* * *

It happened in the blink of an eye. One second, Sara's hand was on the doorknob and the next, she was being pulled away. She found herself being all but thrown to the ground. Behind her, she could feel heat power and the deafening sound. It happened just as quickly as when the DNA lab had exploded, but there was so much _more_. She could feel the glass and wood fly by her and for an earth-jarring moment, she didn't know where and when she was. Disoriented she looked around. There was fire; there was debris. There was Sofia lying beside Catherine, not moving. She tried to stand up, but was pinned down by Nick. "Get off!" He rolled away, apparently uninjured. She scrambled to her feet but before she made it a step or two, Sofia was sitting up and shaking her head. Beside her Catherine was sitting up, but holding a hand to her face. Sara could see blood trickling out of a cut right above the strawberry blonde's left eye. Without thinking about it, she stripped off the light overshirt she'd been wearing and pushed it against the cut on Catherine's head. She looked over at Sofia, who had regained her feet, "Are you okay?" The blonde didn't spare her a glance, her focus was on the raging fire pit that had been Grissom's home. She stripped off her bulky sweatshirt and threw it to the ground. "They're still in there."

Sara looked at the burning house and at her lover and suddenly the pieces connected. "NO!" She left Catherine to her own devices and went immediately to Sofia's side. She grabbed the other woman's hand, "You can't." Ash and smoke swirled around them, making the scene too eerily reminiscent of the bus crash, another time where Sofia had put her life on the line.

* * *

The explosion had temporarily blinded her. The intense red and orange fireball was so much more powerful in person. The tapes didn't do the pure destructive force of the bombings justice. She had just enough time to go with her drummed-into-the-head reaction, drop and cover, before the thunderous explosion turned the quiet neighborhood into a war zone. When the world righted itself, she realized several things at once. The fire was eating away at the structure that had once been Grissom's Fortress of Solitude, Sara was okay, and there were people inside. She could see the fear, bright and terrible, in Sara's deep brown eyes as the other woman reached for her. She ran her thumb along a raw place along the other woman's cheek. "You know I have to." She saw Sara's mouth open to protest or demand to go in with her. "No." Sara scowled, but Sofia held steady. "You don't have the training. I need you out here. Stay with Catherine. We'll need you when we come back out." She stopped Sara's further protest by a quick, hard kiss. "I love you." Then she let her go and turned to look at Nick. He was eying the fire. "I'm going in there with you." She quirked an eyebrow and he shrugged, "You're looking at Lieutenant Nicholas Stokes of the Texas State Volunteer Fire Department." She shook her head and they scowled at the fire. "Let's go."

* * *

Catherine watched through blurred and off-kilter vision, as Sofia and Nick walked into the inferno. Her heart sped up, adrenaline and fear blotted out pain. She got to her feet and moved to Sara's side. The woman needed a hand to hold on to...or one to hold her back. When they disappeared into the house, a part of her went with them. Common sense and professional training began to kick in and she drew out her cell phone. She pressed the walkie button and waited for the beep. "This is CSI Willows. I need Fire and Rescue..." She rattled off Grissom's address and eased her hand out of Sara's vice-like grip. She finished talking and pulled the taller brunette into a one armed hug and held her tight. She looked back at the house. "Come on."

Author's Note: What, did you really think I was done blowing things up?


	48. Chapter XLVII: House Call

_Chapter XLVII_

_House Call_

"You're sure about this, Kid?" She shook her head, "Dead sure." He nodded and leaned over, trying the handle. The door swung open. Captain Brass went in first, gun extended in front of him, going through the room. Restraining herself, she went behind him. "BEN!"

She felt a sick horror in the pit of her stomach when all the pieces had fallen in place. Ben Winston, one of her own patients, had thrown in with the Gods of Vegas. She had even looked at his MySpace page. His rantings there had been almost word for word what he'd told her. He'd been screaming out for help and she hadn't heard him. It was her damn job to hear him. She looked around, frantically, "BEN! IT'S DOCTOR PARKER! I'M HERE TO HELP YOU!"

She knew Captain Brass, Jim, was breaking a dozen different rules bringing her here like this. Maybe, though, they could save lives, Gil Grissom's in particular. The threat had been specifically aimed at him.

_He's some kind of genius crime scene guy...what kind of moron leaves his doors unlocked in Vegas? Too bad I couldn't bag the Blonde Government Bitch too... Grissom of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I wonder, will they etch that on his tombstone...It doesn't matter. There won't be enough of him left to bury when I'm done._

Such horrible, violent words from a boy. A slightly angry, misled little boy. This was her fault. If she had...Oh God.

She heard something and ahead of her, Jim Brass kicked in a door. He was sitting in his father's desk chair, facing away from them. She could see the laptop screen was still open to MySpace. "Benny." He rolled around in the chair. There were tear streaks on his cheeks and a revolver in his hand. "Hey, I didn't think head shrinkers made house calls." Brass threw an arm in front of her. "Just put down the gun, Ben. We can talk about this. There's still time to make things right." As if fate were mocking him, the hand held radio unit clipped to his belt squawked. Catherine Willow's disembodied voice shook as she called for the Fire Department, the Bomb Squad and EMTs."

Ben Winston tried to look brave, but his chin quivered as he pulled back the hammer on the gun. "It's too late. I killed him." Cami strained against Jim's iron grip. "He's not dead yet, Benny, it can be okay. Just put down the gun, Benny, please!" She could feel hysterical tears building behind her eyes. "You're a good boy, Ben, I know you. We can work this out. I swear we can. Please Ben, please listen to me." He didn't look at her, but at Brass. "He's a cop. You're here to arrest me." Jim shook his head, "We're here to help you, Ben." HE shook his head and turned the gun so it pointed at Cambridge. I won't go to jail. I won't be caged." His hand shook, "You might as well kill me now."

Cami's breath seized in her chest. "Ben, please this isn't the answer."  
His hand was becoming steadier. "And going to jail is?"  
Her mind raced, she was desperate now. "Ben, even if you do go to jail, and who says you will? You're a minor and I can testify for you. You're a good boy, Ben. You just got a little lost."

He laughed, "I'm with the Gods of Vegas, Doctor, it's just like they said on TV, I'll never see the light of day again." He chuckled darkly, "I saw _Oz_, Doctor, and I can't go to jail and be someone's bitch. Cami sighed and mentally condemned HBO to the deepest pits of Hell. "It's not like that, Ben. I swear to God, listen, I've been in jail, it's not all horror movies and dropping the soap." Ben laughed at her, he actually laughed. She wasn't quite sure if that was a good or a bad thing. "Yeah, I know all about Women's Prison. Gotta love that English show..._Bad Girls _or something like that." Great, now she was never going to be able to watch BBC again without having flashbacks. "Trust me, it's not like that either." He snorted, "Yeah, the prim and perfect Doctor went to jail. Stop fucking with me." He jabbed the gun in her direction and she momentarily lost her train of thought.

"I'm serious. Boston, 1991. I was arrested for Assault with a Deadly Weapon." That caught his, and Brass's attention, "A friend and I were running in the Boston Marathon. We'd finished up and were cooling down in one of the parks. She went to get water and I was by the duck pond." She almost grinned at the memory. "This bastard came over with this big bottle of champagne, leering at me in my running shorts. He made some rather rude suggestions about some cooling down exercises we could do together and I told him to bite me. He wouldn't let up, I warned him again, but he wouldn't back off. He grabbed me and I whirled on him. Took that bottle of cheap champagne and knocked him in the head with it hard enough to bust his skin open. I was about to go for another hit when this fucking cop, no offence Jim, tackled me to the ground and started reading me my rights." She looked at him, her eyes pleading. "I went to jail and did my time" She'd spent all of four hours in a holding cell, before Sara had bailed her out and called her father, but he didn't need to know that. "And look at me, Benny, I have a life. I'm better off for it, really. If you just put down the gun and come with us, I promise I'll help you. We can get through this, Benny, really we can. She held out her hand, "Please."

From behind them, she heard it. The obnoxiously loud tenor of Lukas Winston, Ben's slightly overbearing father. "BENJAMIN!"

The gun went right back to Ben's temple and Cami felt like she'd been thrown back to square one.

Author's Note: Oh, that's tense. It amuses me, the amount of concern shown for Lady Heather, as opposed to that shown for Grissom. He's been in almost every episode of CSI as opposed to her three and yet, people are turning purple at the prospect of _her_ demise. On a sidenote: Yes, Immi, that's really what happened.


	49. Chapter XLVIII: One Breathe At A Time

_Chapter XLVIII_

_One Breathe At a Time_

The sadistic dance of the flame gave an eerie illumination to the crumbling interior of the Town House. The red and orange light reflected strangely off Sofia's sweaty face, giving her an almost Hellish beauty. The roar of flames made him shout to hear himself. "WE NEED TO STAY TOGETHER! CLEAR THE HOUSE, ROOM BY ROOM!" She nodded, "STAY IN TOUCHING DISTANCE!"

They went through the house, Sofia tight on his six. He cupped his hands around his mouth, "GRISSOM!" He suddenly wished he'd wet down his tee shirt or brought a cloth to breathe through or something. He hooked his teeshirt over his mouth and nose. The further they went inside, the worse the damage became. Whole sections of walls were missing. He heard Sofia coughing behind him, "WE'RE CLOSE TO GROUND ZERO!" She kicked in a door on the left. "NOTHING!" He peered in, tanks full of insects and preserved creepy crawlies were everywhere; it was a home version of Grissom's office. He convinced himself that he couldn't hear the frantic scrambling of millions of insect legs.

They heard a sharp crack and Nick moved in front of her, putting himself between her and... The piece of fiery dry-wall fell onto his back and shoulders. He jerked forward, away from the blistering heat, a moment too late. His cheap cotton tee shirt caught aflame. Fire bit into his tender skin and he turned and felt Sofia begin to mercilessly beat the flames out. She pulled him back around, "YOU OKAY?!" Considering the dry wall had come within inches of his head and his back was a bubbling, charred mess of badly grilled steak, he was fine. "KEEP GOING!"

The smoke was thicker here, the fire more intense. He heard Sofia's throatier than usual voice call out, "GRISSOM!" The last door on the right was open. Nick angled over to it, ducking under a fallen support beam on his way. It was the bedroom and there was one person in the bed. It was Gil Grissom and Nick thanked God that the man was fully dressed. The fact that he had landed, or whatever, on the bed was a miracle in itself. Nick was starting to think that Lady Luck, the patron saint of Vegas, was smiling down on them. He only hoped she continued to do so.

He felt a surge of adrenaline pump through his already thumping heart. "GRISS!" The older man didn't respond. He turned his head, but couldn't tell where Sofia was because of the smoke and red hot fire. "I can't believe this." He told his unconscious boss as he stepped around a fiery bookcase, "You're finally getting some and I'm pulling you out of bed." He got to the bed and saw that Grissom, the infallible and superhuman man, was bleeding from the ears. "Oh God, C'mon Griss." He moved around and hefted the man over his uninjured shoulder, like a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay. "C'mon, Griss, let's get out of here." He ducked back outside of the bedroom and into a growing wall of fire.

He could the heat all around him, suffocating him as he moved. Each step was agony. There wasn't enough oxygen, the greedy fire depleted all of it before it could reach his strained lungs. Grissom's extra weight and the pain of his burns ate into him. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself only to pull it away, cursing. The fire was eating away at the house with the same speed and focus as Greg at a buffet. The ceiling was falling in everywhere now, chunks of it hitting the floor and burning merrily. He took another step and his foot went through the floor. He felt the pain of wood and nails cutting into him through his sneaker. He wrenched it free and moved along. He could feel blood oozing down his leg and his knee sang with a new pain.

Smoke clouded his vision and he coughed violently. He could hear someone's voice...was it Buck?..No. No, this was Vegas and that was Sofia's voice hollering something. The smoke was thick and black now, the flames a blood red. There was no air, no natural light. Grissom became heavier with every step. His breaths were coming in gasps now; his chest was tight and burning. Where was the door? Was he still in the hallway? He couldn't remember which way he'd come from. He squinted around, every instinct telling him to hit the floor. There would be fresher air on the floor. He shook his head. He couldn't hit the floor, he had to get Griss out. He heard something crash, a spectacular sound, and a rush of flames danced up. Just over the chaos, he could hear Sofia's scream.

Sofia. Griss. Sara. Cath. That Lady Heather Chick. He had to make it out. They were depending on him. Fire scorched the hair of his bare legs and the cheap polyester and rayon of his gym shorts melted, melding with his skin. The heat was unbearable, like a triple digit day in South East Texas. He could feel himself being burnt. Every pus-filled blister that formed on his skin pulled a grunt from deep within him.

He could see something. Was that sunlight cutting through the thick smoke? He heard the tinkling of breaking glass and felt the shards cut across his face and arms.

He had to get out. He could remember those God-Awful hours in The Coffin. He could remember Grissom talking to him through the lid. He had called him Poncho, just like his Dad had always done. Grissom had gotten him out. It was pay back time. He trusted his life to Grissom. He'd been there every step of the way, when that freak had stalked him, when he had been accused of murder, when he didn't know if he was in his own grave or not. It was just like he'd told Greg, they had all made it. They would make it. There was a rumble and something in front of him fell in a fiery splash of sparks and heat. The little sparks of fire burnt his chest and face. He wiped his brow, willing himself to ignore the pain. One foot in front of the other, one breath at a time.

Author's Note: El Gringo Loco calls me the Queen of the Cliffie, a nickname that amuses me to no end. This is what happens when you overinflate my ego, more cliffies. Okay, so maybe there would be cliff-hangers no matter what everyone calls me.


	50. Chapter XLIX: Blood and Blame

_Chapter XLIX_

_Blood and Blame_

Her hand was held out, almost touching him. "Please, Ben, please give me the gun. Everything will be okay, please." A tear fell from her eye and she didn't bother to wipe it away. "Please."

From behind her, she could hear Lukas screaming, "DAMNIT BEN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING! PUT THE GUN DOWN NOW! JESUS H CHRIST, ARE YOU INSANE?!"

She could hear Jim saying something, trying to calm him down. Her eyes stayed locked on Ben's. "It's not too late, Benny, please." His hand was shaking. He wasn't a horrible, blood thirsty terrorist, not right now. He was a lost and scared boy. A boy she ached to help. "I can help, Benny, please let me help."

Lukas's voice broke through, "HELP?! YOU OBVIOUSLY AREN'T HELPING HIM! BACK AWAY AND LET ME TALK TO HIM! BENJAMIN DONOVAN WINSTON PUT DOWN THE GUN, NOW!"

* * *

Ben's eyes darted between them all. His Dad, face red and screaming at him. Screaming, he always screamed. The cop, gun in hand, ready to take him down. Then there was Doctor Parker. She was pretty, he'd always thought so. She had those big green eyes and dark hair. She always had a nice smile. She listened. She wasn't smiling now. She was crying. Her hand was stretched out, pleading with him. "Please, Benny." He couldn't take it. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" He waved the gun at them, stopping on his father. "YOU HATE ME! YOU THINK SCREAMING AT ME WILL MAKE ME STOP?! I HATE YOU!" He looked at the cop; hadn't Doctor Parker called him something, Brass? "S-stay back, Pig. I'll kill her, I swear." 

He pointed the gun back at Doctor Parker. "Why are you really here? How did you know?

She looked at him, big green eyes staring right into his. "I saw your MySpace. I recognized what you were saying. God, I'm sorry, Benny. I should have realized. I failed you, Benny. This is my fault. Don't punish yourself. I was supposed to help you and I failed. Please Ben, don't do this. Not now, not this way. Don't ruin your life like this. We can fix this together. Please."

Was it her fault? Wasn't it his fault? Fault? Wasn't he right? No? Yes? "DON'T SHRINK ME! JUST FUCKING DON'T!" He put the gun back to his own temple, more confused now than ever. "I put that bomb in one of his rooms, this back area, full of files and some old desk. I KILLED HIM! BLEW HIM TO KINGDOM FUCKING COME!"

His Dad went pale. "WHAT?!" His voice, always so loud, went quiet. "What are you saying, Ben? Who'd you kill?"

The Cop shook his head, "No, Ben, no ones dead yet. It's going to work out fine, really. We just need you to put down the gun." The gun shook in his hands. Would it all be okay? Were they lying to him? He didn't know. He knew that Doctor Parker really wanted to help him. She always had. She was the only one that ever listened. Even if he sometimes hated talking to her, she listened. She wanted to help him. Somehow he didn't think she was lying, even about that going to jail thing. Somehow he figured it fit her. She didn't look like she would take any crap like that. "What's going to happen to me?" He looked at Doctor Parker, "What will they do to me?"

She shook her head, "I don't know, Ben, but I swear I'll be with you every step of the way. We can get through this together." Her hand wasn't shaking now. All he wanted to do was take it.

The radio squawked again. A woman's voice again, the same one. "WHERE IS MY FUCKING BACKUP?! I'VE GOT PEOPLE WHO NEED FUCKING MEDICAL ATTENTION NOW!"

Cold sweat ran down his back. He'd done that. "She said people." The Cop looked at him, "That's something different." He shook his head, "No that's the same damn voice. DON'T LIE TO ME!" The Cop couldn't turn off the radio. He was holding back his Dad with one hand and had the gun in the other. "Look, Ben, I'm going to put my gun down and you can put yours down." Ben knew what he was going to do. "Don't turn off that radio. I want to hear them. I want to hear all the chaos I've caused." He spit out the sentence the same way he would something foul tasting. "I did that. I killed him...and it sounds like some other people were there too. I'm just like Daniel and Kevin...and Andrea. I'm a terrorist and I deserve to die." He pressed the gun tighter to his temple.

* * *

She could see his hands, such thin hands, going white with the pressure he was putting on the gun. "You don't deserve to die. There's been too much death already, Ben. Please. Listen to me and we can get through this. You just have to trust me. Put the gun down." His eyes were darting back and forth, as a scared rabbit's, looking for a way out or an answer. An answer that just wasn't going to come. Not until he put the gun down. Fear was rioting inside her. Nothing could have ever prepared her for this. There wasn't a Hostage 101 Class at Harvard. The only tangible thing Cami could bring to mind was 'What Would Sara Do?' She made a mental note to ask the Wild Woman if she got out of this alive, because she, herself, didn't have a fucking clue. "Are you okay, Ben?" His glassy eyes focused on her again. He shook his head, almost dazed. "I'm tired, Doctor Parker, really tired." 

She saw it in his eyes, the moment before he did it. She lunged forward with all her might, hands reaching out, fingers stretched out, to stop him. "NO!" The gunshot echoed through the room like cannon fire. Something wet and sticky splattered across her face. Horrified she caught the boy's slumping body. She looked down at him, his eyes vacant, his face bloody. "Ben? Benny? Oh God, no. No, Ben." Shock hit her hard and hit her fast. She didn't even protest when Jim ripped her away from Ben's...corpse.

* * *

The kid shot himself. He saw Parker lunge at him trying to stop him. All she'd gotten for her efforts was a face-full of blood and brain matter. Behind him he could hear the Father screaming. He saw it hit her, the blood splashing against her skin, and the shock settling in, clouding over her intelligent green eyes. Gun lowered and holstered now, he gently pulled the openly weeping psychologist away from the body, turning her face around, away from the gory horror of the teenage suicide. It was tough, he knew. Even he'd thought she'd almost had him there for a minute. 

The father exploded. "OH GOD BENNY!" He grabbed at Parker. "YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HELP HIM! WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT THE FUCK?!" He shook her and Cambridge Parker - a woman who he knew, by reputation and by first hand knowledge, took no shit - only stared at the man. Her lips forming words that she couldn't even vocalize. "I'LL HAVE YOUR JOB FOR THIS! YOU'LL NEVER PRACTICE IN THIS TOWN AGAIN! MARK MY DAMN WORDS! YOU KILLED MY SON! YOU KILLED MY BENNY!" Over wrought, the man fell to his knees beside his dead son and started running his hands through blood soaked brown hair. "Benny. Oh God, Benny, Why?"

The man's words turned to sobs, sobs that followed him and Parker all the way down the hall. When they reached the Living Room, he began calling for backup. CSI, the Coroner, an ambulance for Cami. He sat the woman on the couch, still concerned about how pale she was. He knelt down in front of her, "You okay, kid?"

Though she nodded and even grinned a little; her eyes were about a million miles away and her hands were ice cold. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood spatter on her cheek. CSI would give him hell for tampering with the evidence or whatever, but there was no need for her to have a dead kid's blood on her face.

Author's Note: Not exactly a cliffie this time, but we're still holding over from the last chapter. In all honesty, the hardcore writing for this story is done (yipee) So while my beta looks at my wrok and wonders where I learned to write the English language, I have time to start tinkering some new ideas and plots for the next fic I'll be writing. Fun-fun!


	51. Chapter L: Ring of Fire

_Chapter L_

_Ring of Fire_

She would never complain about the desert heat again. Of course complaining could only happen if she got out of this alive. She'd never been in a fire before, not a live one like this. She'd woefully overestimated her skills. She could smell burning hair, her own blonde locks were singeing in the heat of the fire. It was hard to breathe, smoke and ash was thick in the air, like a dense fog that had no end. The walls around her were alive with flame. The floor was consumed by the burning beast of the greedy fire. Even the ceiling was aflame. The house was ready to collapse onto itself and burn to the ground, with all of them inside. She could barely hear Nick. Beside her a picture frame slowly cracked in the intense heat. Under the glass a picture of a much younger Gil Grissom and a woman who could only be his mother began to bubble and blacken until it was beyond recognition.

She heard the cracks and felt Nick lurch beside her. He turned around and she saw, to her great horror, that his broad and well toned back was on fire. She beat the flames out, burning her own hands in the process. By the time she was done, Nick looked like he'd been flame-broiled.

They hadn't intended to split up, but they did. She heard Nick's cry, he'd found Grissom. That left Lady Heather to her. Since he'd said nothing, she could assume she hadn't been in the bedroom as well. She moved to the next door, it was a closet. The fire leapt on the linens as soon as she opened the door. Whatever Grissom had kept there was now reduced to fodder. There was only one more door in the hall and Sofia almost smacked herself. Where did a woman always go for a last minute check before wild sex? The bathroom, obviously. She pushed open the door with her entire weight.

Lying on the floor, serene and still like a sleeping angel, or devil, was Lady Heather. She was dressed in a black skirt that hugged her curves like a custom-made glove and the tight black corset was half undone at the top, showing more of the woman's breasts than was prudent. Lady Heather had been about to get lucky. Until some asshole kiddie terrorist had decided to spoil all of her naughty fun. Broken pipes sprayed water everywhere, which had protected the redhead from the damaging fire. "Saved by toliet water, tell that one to your friends." Though she made light of it, the woman was very lucky. They all were.

Sofia bent down and hefted the woman over her shoulders in a basic fireman's carry. To her great relief, the woman groaned in protest. The Dark Lady of Vegas was down, but she definitely wasn't out. Blood trickled down her face and Sofia saw that a gash ran across one cheek and up to her temple. The woman was going to have a headache from hell. "Assuming we both don't end up there before we get out."

Muttering to herself, she started out of the bathroom, "One day you and I are going to have a normal meeting. One that doesn't start with one of us being unconscious and getting snugly with our partner."

The bathroom mirror, cracked and shattered into a spiderweb pattern from the intense heat, reflected the two of them in a carnival fun house array of angles and shapes. She eased out of the room, trying her best not to jostle the woman over her shoulders. "Gil would blow a fuse if I damaged his Mistress...or is it the other way around? Never mind, I don't want to know." Since she usually talked to herself, talking to an unconscious woman between violent coughs and gasps for breaths was probably a step-up on the sanity scale.

Her arms were bare and open to the red hot cinders and sparks of the fire. They burned as if someone was jabbing her with red-hot needles over and over. It was hard to see. It was getting hard to walk. Between the other woman's weight and the melting soles of her shoes, Sofia felt bogged down. It was hard to breathe; every time she inhaled she only got ash and thick black smoke. There was precious little breathable air left in the home.

She could almost see the end of the hall. She was almost there. A piece of ceiling fell on her and burnt the hand that was holding Lady Heather steady across her shoulders. She looked up and saw it. The beam came crashing down and she dove to the floor. It lay across her legs, heavy and scorching hot. It burnt through the pathetic cotton protection of her sweats and she could feel the skin and meat of her leg start to burn and bubble. She couldn't help it, she wasn't inhuman or immune to pain; Sofia Curtis screamed.

Lying on the ground, dangerously close to a hungry patch of fire was Lady Heather's inert body. That woman was depending on her. Outside, Sofia knew, Sara was waiting for her. She twisted around and started the painful process of pushing the beam off of herself. It put her in mind of the last crumbling building she'd fool-heartedly gone into. Little Nicki's legs had been pinned under a beam too. Sofia finally pushed and kicked the beam away. She could actually smell the stench of her own, burnt flesh. Her stomach revolted and she gagged. The air on the floor was less smoky, but she had to get up. She had to get out. She had to get out now, while the getting was good or she would die here. It wasn't her day to die. She crawled over to Heather. "All right, let's try this again. Feel free to wakeup any time and assist me in getting your S&M ass out of here." The woman didn't move. "I didn't think so."

She put the woman over her shoulders again and regained her footing, leaning on the burning wall to get up. If every step before had been painful, this was agony. One foot in front of the other, holding the image of Sara in her mind's eye for motivation, she went forward.

She heard Nick before she saw him. He was gasping for breath, almost doubled over from Grissom's weight. The front room, with the door, was gone. All that met them was a wall of flickering red, orange, and yellow death. Nick's curse just about summed it up. They were stuck. She wiped the blood, sweat and ash out of her eyes, "What do we do?" She met his eyes and saw pain and fear to match her own dancing in them.

His eyes darted to the far wall. "I'VE GOT A PLAN!"  
She followed his eyeline. "YOU'VE WATCHED TOO MANY MOVIES!" He looked at her again, his face black with soot. "YOU GOT A BETTER IDEA?!" She shook her head, "NO I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW YOU'RE INSANE!"

They started running as fast as they could possibly move. They both prayed that the plan, such as it was, would work. They darted into a wall of fire and smoke and disappeared.

Author's Note: I can almost hear the sighs of relief all the way over here. Not that they're safe yet, but still.


	52. Chapter LI: Like a Pheonix

_Chapter LI_

_Like A Phoenix_

They came out, just like a bad action movie, through the wide side window. Nick with Grissom and Sofia with Lady Heather, they came flying past the crackling fire and shattered glass. They hit the pavement with the sick thud of bodies crashing to a halt and the sharp snap of bones being broken and joints being thrown out of place.

Sara ripped herself from Catherine's grasp and ran over to them. She hit her knees by Sofia's head and started to pat her lover, half covered by the unconscious Lady Heather, on the face. "Sofia, Baby, wake up. Show me those gorgeous baby blues." Though her words were calm, inside Sara was panicking. This was not happening. The woman she loved wasn't lying on the ground not moving. This was another God-Awful nightmare, or a badly scripted movie, it wasn't real. Sofia's cough, strained and from the chest, brought her back out of her blind panic. Suddenly aware that there was an entire person lying on the woman's chest, Sara eased Lady Heather off of her and fully onto the pavement. "Sofia?" Blue eyes fluttered open.

She had come through the window and twisted, keeping Lady Heather on top. The uncoordinated landing had probably knocked every precious bit of breath out of her. Sofia's left arm, though, was what had her worried. She had obviously tried to break her fall with it. It was twisted, badly mangled, and burnt as well. Sara looked down at unfocused and cloudy blue eyes. "Don't move, Sofie, don't move anything. The EMTs are on their way. Just don't move, Baby." Visions of neck injuries and comas danced through her head. She looked up sharply when Catherine called her name.

"Sara! I think Gil has a head injury!" She could hear Nick groaning and beside her, Lady Heather was starting to come to. Torn between Sofia and the rest, her heart ripped itself to shreds. The sound of sirens broke her out of her reverie. She laid a gentle kiss on Sofia's forehead and moved to see what had happened to everyone else.

* * *

They were hurt, but Catherine didn't know how badly. Sara had been the doctor in her past life, she'd been a stripper for all the help it was doing her now. Gil wasn't moving and Nicky was in terrible pain. He wasn't breathing right. Lady Heather was also out of it and Sofia's arm looked like it had lost a battle with a meat grinder. Sara was as pale as a ghost and was reluctant to leave Sofia. Catherine couldn't blame her. She remembered seeing Warrick lying on the ground like that, pale and broken, clinging to life. Her stomach turned sourly and she made herself focus on other things. It had seemed like hours, not mere minutes, when they were inside. Time had slowed down and dragged on forever. Now every thing was happening too fast. Too damn fast. Sara went from one to the other, she didn't smile once.

The EMTs rushed in, followed by the yellow coated fire fighters. Catherine scowled at them. The water was too little too late. The house was a loss and the precious lives inside had already been saved, but at a great cost.

They snapped oxygen masks over Lady Heather, Gil, Nick and Sofia and began to speak rapidly. Sara glared at a blonde EMT - was that Hank - and began snapping off Sofia's vital information. She made it very clear that she _was not _going to leave the other woman's side. Hadn't Catherine seen all of this before? Only it had been Sofia barking orders at the EMTs as Sara was being put on the stretcher. Past and present blurred together and Catherine found herself hopping into the ambulance they were putting Gil into. He hadn't started to wake up yet. Every one else had started to come back around, why hadn't Gil? Blood was seeping out of his nose and ears. Oh God, what was wrong with Gil?

* * *

She held Sofia's good hand tightly and listened as the EMTs spoke back and forth in terse, hurried words. Through a fog of fear she picked up words like 'dislocated, compound fracture', 'concussion', 'third degree burns' and 'critical condition'. No. No. No. No. It couldn't end like this. She was sorry. Oh God, she was sorry. Sofia couldn't die. She just couldn't. Not when she'd just figured everything out. She'd been scared before, scared of her own feelings. The idea of losing Sofia scared her more. The very idea of not having Sofia in her life terrified her, utterly and completely. It just _couldn't_ happen. She couldn't die.

She could vaguely hear the sirens as they rushed to Desert Palms. She knew that the others were in other ambulances. How were they? Could she possibly handle a world without Gil? Or Nick? She wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

* * *

They burst through the ER bay doors at a full run. The staff had been alerted and were ready. Doctor Lucy Gabriel gave one look to the woman on the gurney and one to the woman clinging to her hand. "Trauma Room One! Harry, take Miss Sidle to the Waiting Area, get her to fill out the forms." Before the words were even out of the brunette's mouth, Lucy bellowed a "YES, YOU HAVE TO!"

Doctor Vance Tidwell ordered the Severe Head Trauma, otherwise known as Gil Grissom, to Radiology for a CAT scan as soon as he hit the doors. He looked him over and knew he needed to know more before he could even hazard a guess at the man's condition.

Doctors Jason Peel and Kalli Goodner, both residents, took Nick Stokes and Lady Heather. The Texan had severe burns, abrasions and smoke inhalation, but seemed awake and coherent. Heather was slightly disoriented and shaken up, but seemed fine, all things considered.

* * *

Outside in the Waiting Area, Sara and Catherine were quickly (maybe too quickly) joined by Jim Brass. The other members of the Crime Lab and PD came in one by one and two by two. All anxiously awaited news on the Gods of Vegas's latest victims.

Catherine paced. Sara sat with Jim's arm around her. Greg and Warrick stared down the corridors. All of this had a hideously too-familiar tone to it.

Author's Note: Thanks to all who've sent their comments, demands, threats, questions of my sanity and reviews along. Now that I'm done blowing things up, we might just get to the end of this story...maybe.


	53. Chapter LII: The Facts

_Chapter LII_

_The Facts_

Doctor Lucy Gabriel pulled away the curtain with a smooth jerk of her wrist, "Second and third degree burns, two broken ribs, a torn ACL, severe smoke inhalation, a concussion, and more abrasions than most football _teams." _She looked him up and down and Nick felt like he was a slide under the microscope. "So where does that put you?"

He blinked, slightly confused. "Um in the hospital?"  
She rolled her eyes, "In this competition you and your friends are having." She crossed her arms and looked at him. "What is it, most injuries or closest to death wins? Honestly, because it seems like I can't go three shifts without seeing you all in _my_ _ER. _We're thinking about roping off a special section just for the_ Las Vegas Crime Lab_. I'm pretty sure we have your insurance rep on speed dial." Nick reached up to rub at the back of his neck, only to have his arm swatted down. "You've got burns on your neck and shoulders. Don't' touch them, you'll infect them and then you'll really know pain." They already hurt like hell, though he wasn't about to admit it.

"Well, how are my friends?"

She scowled, "They're all right. Broken bones, scrapes and burns, and Mr. Grissom has one very nasty concussion, but you all made it out in one piece, this time."

Inspiration, whether it be from a higher power, or morphine struck. "Well, Doctor Gabriel, how about I make it up to you? A nice dinner and maybe some dancing to make up for all the time you've spent taking care of me and my friends."

For a moment, the red haired doctor only stared at him, then she laughed. "Not even on my worst day, Mr. Stokes. She left the curtained off area chuckling, but he'd seen that glint in her eye. Oh, he had her.

It might have struck another person as strange, desperate, or even morbid, to flirt with one's ER doctor. The Doc had a point, though, sometimes it did seem like he spent more time in or at the hospital than at home. You didn't leave family to fend for themselves, though. That's what they were, his family. His parents and siblings were in Texas; he didn't see them half as much as he wanted to. Sometimes, seeing Sara grin or hearing Greg's goofy gossip helped the homesickness, just a bit. They had woven a twisted up basket of love: watching each other's backs, saving each other's lives, sharing triumphs and defeats.

Today he'd run into a burning building with nothing but the shirt on his back for protection, determined to save a member of his family. He might be in a hospital bed, but so was Griss. He was in a hospital bed, not a body bag and at the end of the day that is what really counted.

* * *

They were monitoring his brainwaves. It was fascinating. By all rhyme and reason, he should be dead, or at least in a deep coma, that had been what the doctor had told him. He had shown him the CAT scans and he understood he had come very close to dying. He didn't remember very much.

He remembered Sybil leaving and then calling Heather. Had Heather been in the house? A quick jolt of panic had sent his pulse soaring and nurses ran into his private room. Someone, another young doctor, assured him that Heather was fine.

His bandaged burns itched, he could smell the unpleasant stench of singed hair and burnt flesh along with antiseptic and alcohol. The hospital room, they were holding him overnight for observation, was white and sterile, too bright and too small to be truly comfortable. He could still taste the copper tang of blood and retch-inspiring ashes in his too-dry mouth.

Jim came in and filled in the massive blanks in his head. He watched the man, his face seemed dimmer; the lines of fatigue seemed deeper today. He spoke slowly, often rubbing the tension out of his forehead or pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. The scene was laid out before him in all its demented glory. One of the Gods of Vegas, another teenager, had planted pipe bombs, three of them, in his house. Doctor Parker had pieced together the who from the MySpace accounts and had called Jim. He'd alerted the others. Jim gave him a weak smile, "I couldn't get a hold of you. Now I know why." He shuffled his feet, "So me and the Doc went to the Winston residence. The kid, well, the kid didn't make it. The Doc is here, being treated for shock." Jim looked out the window for a minute, his face tilted away.

He turned back around and gave a half smile, "...ick is okay, a couple of broken ribs, and some burns. Sofie is pretty rough, she pulled a lot of smoke and she ended up with a pretty mangled left arm. Shoulder, elbow, and wrist all broken and your girlfriend landed on her hard, broke her right collar bone and bruised her sternum. I couldn't get in to see her, but Sara was harassing the Docs pretty hard when I left her, so I assume she's just fine."

Because he'd been paying such close attention to Jim, he hadn't noticed the Sheriff come in. It was Jim's none-too-subtle nod to the side that made him turn his head to the door. The Sheriff stood there, his hands behind his back, "Gil." He strutted in, "I'm sorry to see you hurt like this." Gil only shrugged. The Sheriff continued, fidgeting in place as he spoke. "I know things haven't been too good between us through this whole thing." Gil nodded, to quote Greg, 'No, really?' "Since you're okay, though, everything's worked out just fine. When do you think you'll be up for a Press Conference? Well, maybe not too soon, but it should definitely be you and Curtis. Not that Sidle isn't too shabby herself. Plus with them being lesbians? It's PR gold." Jim said something to the Sheriff and the two men squared off for a minute. Gil didn't wait for them to finish.

"I'm not giving a Press Conference." That caught their attention, both men turned to face him. Jim had a small, supportive smirk on his face and the Sheriff was scowling. Gil didn't even give him the time to protest. "And neither is Detective Curtis. Maybe you haven't noticed, but this is a hospital, not your campaign headquarters. I am a scientist, not your 'Yes' Man." While he was at it, he took a deep breath. "I have had it with your demands and your threats. Sheriffs come and go, but Forensics is always going to be around. My team and I were here before you and we'll be here after you." The Sheriff opened his mouth, but Gil went on. "Even if we do _choose_ to leave Vegas, do you really think careers would suffer? Catherine Willows can run this or any other department and do a better job of it on her worst day than Conrad or myself on one of our best. LA has been begging Warrick Brown to transfer for years; he would lead a team. Every Crime Lab in Texas wants Nick Stokes to lead up a team. Even Greg would be welcomed with open arms wherever he went." He smiled, "And Sara, my star pupil as you like to call her, the FBI has been trying to lure her away for years, and San Francisco wants her back as a shift supervisor. As for myself, well, I have a PhD in Etymology and enough Forensics experience to do anything I'd like anywhere I'd like. These aren't threats or promises, these are facts. That's what I deal in, facts. We can all, every single one of my team, do without Vegas, but can Vegas do without us?" Red in the face and mouthing some very pithy swear words, the Sheriff stormed out.

Gil laid his head back against the pillows and Jim, flabbergasted, left him as well. Gil didn't even try to make out his mumblings.

The Doctors assured him that he would make full recovery. They said that the headache, which was only half as bad as a migraine, and the ringing in his ears would fade in a few days. He almost smiled; what ringing in his ears? All he heard, all he would ever hear again, were the simple, supple sounds of silence.

Author's Note: Yes, Grissom is alive. A lot of people saw what I was doing before I did it...which means I'm not as clever as I thought I was. People, you know who you are, can stop threatening me and hiring hit men. He's fine, honestly, he is...and that's the way it was planned the whole time. ((Now if the nice man will take the gun from my head...)) :p I have a wierd sense of humor, deal with it.


	54. Chapter LIII: Feme Fatales

_Chapter LIII_

_Feme Fatales_

Doctor Jason Peel wheeled the woman to the small room. She was going to stay for observation, whether she liked it or not. Well, if she refused treatment, he'd have to let her go, but he figured most of her protests were more bluster and show than anything. "Oh _come on_, Peel. Acute Traumatic Shock my ass. I _am _a Doctor, I know what shock looks like." Jason smirked. Shock looked a whole lot like Cambridge Parker did right now. Pale and shaky, her big green eyes had been glazed over when she'd arrived. Luckily for him, he had a baby sister who was just as stubborn as Miss Parker, and besides, Lucy had told him she'd be a problem patient. "PhD, Parker, leave the self-diagnoses to those of us with an MD after our name." The fact that pink splotches of color were coming up on her cheeks was a good thing. She was coming out of it, but that didn't mean she didn't need to be looked after. He pushed her into Room 4; they had put all the CSIs in a row. It would be easier to direct the visitors that way. The Head Injury was in Room 2, the Male Shake and Bake was in Room 3 along with his partner in crime-fighting, the Multiple Fractures. Room 4 already had an occupant, but at the rate she was going, Miss Parker would get along grandly with her. "Here, up in bed. She-" He jerked his thumb at the other standard issue hospital bed, "Doesn't want to be here either. You can both bitch about how awful your friends are. Honestly, bringing you to the hospital when you're injured, the nerve of them."

* * *

When she got out of here, Cami was going to kill herself one Southern Fried Doctor. She scowled at his back as he left and then sighed. She'd rather be at home. She looked to her right and did a double take. 

The other patient, though dressed in the same God-Awful sort of hospital gown, and she used the word gown loosely, was definitely not some housewife with an appendicitis or a broken finger. Supple leather boots stuck out from calf length cotton garment and wine red hair spilled across the pillow. The other woman was pale, cut and bruised, but the abuse didn't take away from the beauty. No, it brought out the well molded cheek bones and the emerald green eyes.

Those eyes met her own. For a moment neither spoke. Cami suddenly realized two very important things at once. One: This was the famed Lady Heather she'd heard both too much and too little about from Sara and two: She had to know where the woman had gotten the boots. She found herself grinning, "How many animals gave their lives for those boots and where can I get a pair?"

The other woman, she would bet the farm (Her father owned a few so she could) that it really was Heather, smirked. That obviously hadn't been the reaction she'd been waiting for.

Cami didn't take her pause or the raised russet brow as a deterrent. She punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and leaned back. "Never a calm moment around these wacky CSIs, huh?"

She wanted, no she _needed_ to crawl in this woman's head. To find out what exactly made Lady Heather tick. Honestly, any woman who could, according to the Wild Woman, take tea in the afternoon and tie up and beat people at night had to be truly fascinating and her truly impeccable taste in boots could not be discounted.

* * *

There were not many women who could look at her and ask about her boots. She'd done some very fast and very creative threatening when they'd tried to cut off her boots. She had plenty of skirts and tops, but her boots were custom made and had cost her more then most people made in a week. 

Heather mentally sighed. The hideously printed cotton gowns that was clinging to her by a few stingy strings was not her usual choice of attire. She wasn't exactly her usual self, being caught in an explosion put a bit of a damper on her mood and image.

The other woman dripped self-confidence; it positively oozed from her pores. The raven-haired woman was a lot of talk, but the shadows in her eyes told Heather that there was something, a whole lot of something, underneath. The woman's comments about the CSIs told her that while she was annoyingly clueless as to the other woman's identity, she had a pretty good idea who she was. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you." She held out an awkward, IV bearing arm, "I'm Heather." Somehow she felt her usual honorific 'Lady' was not entirely appropriate for a hospital meeting. The other woman shook her hand, "Ah, so you _are _the Lady Heather I've heard so much about. I'm Cambridge Parker, Cami, and to speak frankly, I've been dying to meet you."

Heather was pretty sure that Cambridge, Cami as she preferred to be called, rarely softened her words, and admiration was always appreciated, especially now. "Ah. What have you heard about me? I can assure you, it's all true." Cami grinned, "Even the S&M Orgy with Nick Stokes, Catherine Willows and a donkey? Damn, I really thought Greg was lying to me about that one."

To laugh so soon after being pulled out of a burning house, so soon after flirting with death, was refreshing and healing. "All right, perhaps not everything. So you know Catherine Willows and the rest of them?" Cami nodded, "A bunch of crazies." Cami pushed a hand through her black hair, "I'm a psychologist, and I say that with confidence. They're all nuttier then fruitcakes, but they're good people to have at your back in a tight spot." Heather couldn't have stated it any better herself. She, as she understood it, owed her life to Sofia Curtis, a woman she'd only met once. "You weren't in the house, what happened to you?" It was, perhaps, a personal question. One that she probably should have asked in a somewhat nicer way.

* * *

"She ran in and played hero, got a suspect shot for her trouble." Both Heather and Cambridge looked up. Sybil had always known how to make an entrance. She'd been here to see Gil, but this was going to come first. 

She glared at Parker. "You had no business going in like that. Besides violating his Fourth Amendment Rights and throwing out the entire LVPD rule book, you and Captain Brass provoked a teen to suicide."

They were a pair. Cambridge Parker, Mistress of the Mind and the self proclaimed Lady Heather, Mistress of Pain. Neither of them looked particularity good right now, they both looked down right pathetic. Parker pushed her hands through her hair. "Ben Winston was my patient. I had every right to go in there if I felt that he was in immediate danger, especially from himself. Are you here in a professional capacity, Sybil, or are you just here to be the Resident Bitch? Because, honestly, I don't think anyone is in the mood for your shit. I figured you'd be half way back to DC by now. You grabbed all the glory after the shit hit the fan; it sort of reminded me of a greedy kid and a pinata. Why are you still here, Hart? Looking for an in-depth with Maria Rymer?"

Sybil crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed with the good doctor's rather scathing run-down. "Pot, Kettle, ring any bells there? You're the one who's running into the case and doing favors, what are you about to pitch your latest psycho-babble book? Rake in another couple of million and get your pretty face on the cover of _Psychology Today_?

* * *

All right. She'd been having a pisser of a day, but that did it. Sybil Parker needed to be set straight and it looked like it was up to Cami Parker to do the setting. She threw her legs around the bed and stood up. She ignored the sickening lurch of vertigo and turned on the smirking blonde. "I have had it up to here" She viscously chopped at the top of her forehead, "with you." She took a step forward. "You burst in and let everyone else do the work and then take credit for it. What, you want more? You haven't got enough yet?" She wasn't sure what she was going to do, she had just enough strength to stay standing, but she didn't have to do anything. A voice, strong, commanding and just a little bit sexy called out.

* * *

"Stop." Both women, feisty brunette and full-of-herself blonde turned to look at her. She struck an almost casual pose. Her head was tilted to the side and folded her fingers together. "Get back in bed, Cami, otherwise you'll have to stay here all the longer." She raised her brow at the psychologist, hoping the woman would see the message in her eyes. She did, though she didn't go back to the bed. She sat in the nearby chair, crossed her legs and settled herself, as though she were expecting a show.

It was delightfully melodramatic. A burnt out Soap Opera writer couldn't have scripted it better. The ex verses the new woman in Gil Grissom's life. Though he hadn't mentioned it, she'd known Sybil Hart had been there, at his Townhouse, before she had arrived. She'd all but choked on the lingering scent of the other woman's over-done perfume on him. She was still wearing the deep red lipstick she'd kissed Gil with. "She's here to make an appearance, of course, and to kick me when I'm down. It's sad, really." She cocked her head towards Cami, ignoring how the movement made her mind scream with pain and her senses swim. "You see, she and Gil, Gil Grissom, had a little." She pursed her lips for a moment, then wiggled her fingers, "thing a while back." She returned her focus to Hart. "She just can't stand the idea that she's been forgotten."

Hart let out a bitter chuckle. "If Gilbert wants to play _freak_ with Dominatrix Barbie, that's fine with me. It's just surprising, how far he's fallen. All you are is a high priced whore that he's having a little fling with. Don't get too terribly comfortable with him. He surrounds himself with beautiful bimbos with badges and buries himself in work. How long can you compete with the Hero Detective Sofia Curtis, or the One Woman Wonder Catherine Willows, and of course, let's not forget, his protégée, Sara Sidle. Get used to hearing those names along with 'I've got to go to work.' That's who he is. Gilbert Grissom. CSI comes first last and always. You're only a distraction that he'll entertain for a little while. It'll be his S&M Learning Experience, an experiment, you see."

She nodded, a half smile gracing her face. She did see, oh she did. "I think I am beginning to see. You come here, after he's faced death itself, with all of his friends and family waiting in the wings, ready to fight to protect him. After all the fuss is over. You weren't there, not when he needed help. That's how you operate, isn't it, Ms. Hart?" She saw the other woman's jaw tighten. Oh, she didn't like people forgetting the fact that it was supposed to be _Agent_ Hart. The title of Agent, though, was one that had to be earned and it could be dismissed if the bearer didn't measure up to it. 'Agent' was not so different then 'Lady' in that respect. This woman, though, was about to find out why all the naughty boys and girls of Vegas called her so.

"You wait until everyone else has toiled, has suffered, and you come in. You take credit and push others down and, when it's all said and done, you don't care who you've injured. You're selfish, petty, simple and no better than the criminals you claim to stand against. You call me a whore, many do. Let me tell you something, though. I look at you and that's what I see, a whore. You've led Vegas, the country and the world around by the nose. Scaring them one minute and patting them on the head the next. I could admire that, the use and abuse of power, if it is done with style. You play God and then expect them to give you their admiration, their support and their tax dollars. You're a politician, a tacky one at that, and ask anyone on the streets, a politician falls lower than a prostitute on the respectability list. You play at it all, you put on your expensive suits and your little badge. You intimidate and you throw around names, titles and play Agency ABCs. When it comes down to it, though, Sybil Hart, you're not even a whore. A whore knows what she's doing. You're just a little girl playing dress up in some one else's closet, hiding behind other people's acts and theories. Basically, my dear Miss Hart, you're a little bitch who has forgotten where her place is." She sat up straighter, and let her hair fall behind her, revealing her face and the green eyes she was sure would be flashing. If Zoe had been here, she would tell her that she had the 'Dom Look' going on. "Now you get out of _my _sight before I decide to give you what you really need."

Hart wasn't as gung-ho now. "And what would that be?"

Heather smirked, "A good spanking."

Taking her raised eyebrows and slight smirk as a cue, Cami stood and put her hand firmly on Sybil's shoulders. "Okay, then, bye-bye now. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out. Heather watched her all but push the Agent out of the room and had she been a more mundane person, would have been scandalized to witness Cambridge Parker, nationally renound psychologist, pull a fast one on the up-tight, over blown agent.

* * *

The sight of the all-powerful, all American bitch Sybil Hart blanching and fleeing like a scolded child went a long way to making Cami feel much better. 

Heather waited until Sybil was out of the room before leaning back against the bed, obviously weary. Cami figured that if Sybil had a tail, and she didn't completely discount the theory that she did, it would be tucked between her legs. She looked over at the other woman. "Is it wrong to be just a little turned on right now?" Heather's laughter echoed off the institutional white walls and down the hall. Down the hall, where Cami could still see Sybil Hart skulking out.

Author's Note: Favorite Sybil scene to date, quite possibly my favorite scene of the entire series. Three dynamic women in one small room like that...it's a miracle someone didn't die. Very true story worked in there, though. After a car wreck, my sister went to the ER and raised seven kinds of trouble until the nurses unlaced her leather boots instead of cutting them off like they had been about to. You do not mess with a woman and her leather.


	55. Chapter LIV: Purification by Fire

_Chapter LIV_

_Purification by Fire_

She knew exactly what had pulled her out of her heavy morphine induced sleep. The pain was obscene. It felt like someone had parked a tank on her upper body. Everything hurt and drawing in each breath was a painful battle in itself. She remembered fire - had there ever been anything but the fire - coming to her from somewhere beyond the leaded curtains of her eyelids was a voice. Her scattered and smoky mind made the connection. It was Sara, her Sara.

"I didn't know if I should call your Mom or not. I mean sometimes you get this whole thing going with her and I didn't know if that would be healthy right now. Jim was just in. Everyone else is okay. Heather, the woman you ran in to the burning building to save, came out almost perfectly fine. There's barely a scratch on her."

She felt soft hands push back her hair and run gently over her face. Her senses were returning slowly. She felt sluggish; drunk on drugs and shock, and her body ached for rest. She cracked open one eye. Sara's face was close to hers, her brown eyes closed; two tears had leaked out from between her lashes and were slipping down her face. They made a little damp spot on the sheet. "Even if you hate me, you have to wake up, Sofia. I know you're not dead, you're not even in a coma. Even a Med-School Reject like me can read a chart like yours. Fire fighters, something you're not, came in all the time. Shake and Bakes, is what they call them, call you. Third degree burns on your legs and your right arm, and in other places, about fifteen percent of you actually." She stopped for a minuite, catching her breathe and re-cementing her composure before continuing. You have second degree burns over," There was another pause and when Sara's voice came back, it sounded thicker, "Forty percent of your body, and everything else is a serious first degree burn." She didn't know why, but the clinical run down of her condition calmed her, made it easier for her to cope with the pain. She'd always been a 'Tell me like it is, Doc' sort of girl. "You lost almost two inches of your hair. Well, you still have it, but it's beyond repair, babe." Gentle hands slid down to her rather tender torso. "When you came flying out the window, though, that's when you really did it. You landed on your left arm. You dislocated and separated the shoulder. Hairline fracture to the humerus, you cracked your elbow and broke your radius and ulna at the wrist, ah, and lest I forget, you broke two fingers too." There was a longer pause, and Sara had yet to open her eyes. She could see the other woman swallowing convulsively, trying to hold down tears and sobs. "Lady Heather landed on you pretty hard too. You bruised your sternum, which is why you're having trouble breathing. I cracked mine once, I think I was six or seven...somewhere in there. I know how bad you're hurting, Baby." She shook her head, "And she snapped your right collar bone. So, both of your arms are out of commission for a while, not to mention serious smoke inhalation and a mild concussion.

The hands left her and cradled Sara's head. The slim, competent hands were trembling and shaky fingers were going through her hair frantically. Brown eyes opened, but they were miles away. Her next words were whispered and shaky. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

She apologized for what seemed like the millionth time. She wasn't even sure if the other woman could hear her. 

"What, did you fall on me too?"

Her entire body jerked and she looked down to find two cloudy blue eyes foggily focusing on her. Relief rushed through her so fast she went light headed. "Sofia." She couldn't help herself, she planted a soft kiss on the other woman's forehead. "How is the pain? Are you nauseous? Are you having double vision or a ringing in your ears? Do I need to get the doctor? Where is the damn doctor?!"

A pained chuckle brought her back from her borderline panic. "You're cute when you babble."

Damn it to Hell and back again. Sofia was lying in a hospital bed after almost dying in a hellish fire and she was still comforting her. That, obviously, had to stop. She was a grown woman, and the woman she loved was lying, a hair's breath away from ICU and she was a step away from bawling like a baby.

"How long have you been awake?"  
Sofia squinted, her reddened skin scrunched at her forehead, "How long have you been rambling?"  
Sara shook her head, "All right, okay, Sofia you've been hurt, rather seriously."

* * *

Even hopped up on enough drugs to keep the slums happy for a week, she could read Sara Sidle like a book. She saw the walls slam down in the other woman's brown eyes and if she'd had the ability to move without cringing and whimpering in pain, she would have given Sara a good hard shake. She could almost hear the thoughts going through the other woman's mind. Honestly, when _didn't_ Sara think she was supposed to be this stoic pillar of strength? She had obviously spent far too much time around Grissom. She acted as if every human reaction was something to be squashed out at all costs. 

Was this Dr. Sidle talking? She had seen this face as hard as stone before. Sara had adopted the same look and tone when she'd been arguing with her own doctors about going home. She hadn't liked Dr. Sidle then and she sure as hell didn't like her now. She wasn't in love with Dr. Sidle. "Sara." The woman was still going, ticking off her injuries, the injuries she was more than feeling at this point, one by one. "Sara." She had moved on to the recovery process and what should be happening. "Sara." She wasn't getting through to the woman. Had she thought her dedication and one track mind had been attractive once? She'd obviously been insane. "SARA!" She wheezed and coughed, a sharp pain went through her chest and she felt tears mist up in her eyes. Her raised voice had taxed her still depleted oxygen supply and that bruised breastbone (who said sternum anyway?) Sara had mentioned was throbbing like a bad tooth. Her almost dying, though, got Sara's attention. Her face, which was already too pale as it was, went a shade paler.  
"Breathe, slow deep breaths." Sara pulled, from somewhere, a plastic oxygen mask and pressed it against her face. "Slow breaths, baby. Good." She followed Sara's barked orders, slowly bringing oxygen into her lungs; it felt like someone was shoving a machete into her chest slowly. After a moment, the gray dots that had flooded her vision began to fade and her stomach stopped revolting. She relaxed a bit against the pillow and closed her eyes, "Ow."

* * *

Her heart had leapt into her throat. She held the mask against Sofia's mouth until her breathing returned to normal. And, then damned the slow nurses. The tube around Sofia's nose was delivering one-hundred percent oxygen but it just wasn't enough. She was in pain, but her lover was too damn proud to use the push button they'd given her. Sara picked up the small trigger and pushed it with her thumb; she knew the medication would make Sofia groggy. Sofia hated being groggy, but Sara couldn't stand to see her in such pain. She caressed the other woman's cheek with her thumb. "You're okay now. You're okay." She saw Sofia move, as if to speak. She put two fingers over the other woman's lips. "No. It's my turn to talk." 

She looked down into Sofia's eyes, deep pools of blue that she could happily drown in. "I love you." She saw shock and something else - maybe happiness - bloom up in Sofia's eyes. Then came something else, something darker and just a little bit painful; doubt. "No. This isn't knee-jerk or to make you feel better. I almost lost you. I was scared, Sofia. So damn scared and confused. Confused by my own feelings; confused by the confusion. Then you went into that damn fire." She shook her head, and for a split second as she blinked, she could see the flames and smoke again. She could still feel the acute terror in her heart and soul. "Loving you, loving anyone is scary for me. I don't trust all that easily, it's sort of a hold over from when I was young." She shook her head again, "But today. Today was it. I thought you were dead and my entire world stopped. Ask Catherine, I was ready to barge right through those flames and pull you out myself." Momentarily amused, she rubbed at her own wrist and shoulder, "I think she left bruises. She was physically holding me back right there at the end. Then you came out and I could breathe again." She looked down at Sofia. She looked so weak and vulnerable, two things she definitely was not, lying there. "You're my hero, you know, not just because of what you did today, not that it wasn't spectacular." She picked up Sofia's right hand and placed a gentle kiss on the gauze that it was wrapped in. "You love me. You didn't put any catches or strings on it. Just love, pure and simple, like the fairy tale, happily ever after, Harliquin Romance kind You made it okay for me to feel again, and I feel, Sofia. I feel so much I should hurt, but I don't. I love you and I love the fact that I do, that I can love you. You did that for me. I want to share everything with you, _everything_."

She looked down, half afraid of what she would see. What she saw both warmed her heart and cut into her soul. Sofia was blinking back tears. "I love you too." The woman on the bed leaned up and caught Sara's lips in a soft kiss.

* * *

She watched from the door, flowers forgotten in her lax hand. She dared not walk in and disturb the moment. Behind her, she heard Warrick soft voice, "You go, girl." Catherine turned to face him. "Sometimes they're so cute together it's probably illegal." The taller, darker man shrugged one shoulder, "Love is love, Cath." She nodded and took a few steps to the right, out of the doorway, pulling him along with her. "We should leave them be. Sara and Sofia deserve a little happiness; they've earned it." She leaned against the wall, "I envy them, what they have. They found each other and... it works. It shouldn't work, you know, but it just does. They're perfect for one another." 

Warrick's green eyes twinkled, "They found each other, huh?"  
She nodded, "And they weren't even looking. Did you ever picture them together? I mean, we all thought Sara would eventually wear Gil down and they'd get married and have little genius babies. And Sofia… God, just a few years ago, we had her gunning for Ecklie. Now they're together and Gil is with Lady Heather." Warrick, he seemed closer now, like he was leaning in, trapping her against the wall, nodded, "It's funny how things turn out." Catherine nodded and found that she had somehow backed herself all the way against the wall and there was still no room between them. "We should go see how Nicky is doing."

Warrick was impossibly close now, she could feel the heat coming off his body. "'Rick, what are you doing?" Her voice was husky now; she was almost breathless. "Hitting that shit until it cries." She jerked, "What?!" He shook his head, "Cath," He leaned in still further, putting himself irrevocably in her personal space, and she found her hands on his chest. "Yeah?" Their lips were almost touching now. "Shut up." He closed the tiny gap between them, their lips touched and Catherine found herself being pulled into a merciless riptide of passion, pleasure and absolute perfection.

Author's Note: Big shiny medal and to use the vernacular, props, to Immi who gave me the idea for the chapter title. 'Purification by Fire' was all her idea. Everything else was all me.


	56. Chapter LV: Victorian Normalacy

_Chapter LV_

_Preconceived Notions of Victorian Normalcy_

It was late, she should have been asleep, but she had always been a creature of the night. She did not doubt that she was the only one awake. Most of the people either confined to or visiting this area of the hospital lived and worked at night. The heels of her boots, she refused to walk on the cold floor barefoot and the hospital slippers just looked pathetic, echoed up the hallway.

She looked into the other rooms as she passed. Nick Stokes was, as Cami had been, asleep. She made a mental note to thank the Texan for risking his life for Gil's. The next room held two people. Sara Sidle had refused to leave her lover's side. The door was open and in the shadows of the room she could see the blonde, who had selflessly risked herself, resting and the brunette sitting beside her, brown eyes open.

She paused and watched as Sara, after checking to make sure Sofia was asleep, rose. They stood across from each other, one on each side of the doorway. Sara looked her over. "You came out okay, I'm glad." She nodded, "Is Detective Curtis, Sofia, going to be okay?" Dark eyes flicked back to look at the sleeping woman, "Yes." Heather nodded, "I'm glad. She's lucky to have you, watching over her, staying like this." Sara chuckled, "No. _I'm_ lucky to have _her_." She crossed her arms over her chest, "And you're lucky to have Griss or do you?" There was curiosity, and borderline accusation in the tired brown eyes of Sara Sidle. Heather simply shrugged, "That is up to him." She didn't know if the other woman would understand. Sara mirrored the shrug. "I guess you better go and check, then. He's probably still awake." She nodded, "Thank you." Sara only offered a mysterious half smile and returned to her silent vigil.

* * *

She appeared, like an apparition from the shadows. He doubted she had made a sound at all, though he would never be sure. She was lovely, even now. She didn't look like the Lady of the Dominion now. For the moment, she was simply Heather, though there was nothing simple about her. Her luxurious red locks were pulled back away from her face and all traces of makeup had been washed away long ago. The only remains of the dominatrix so many bowed to were her boots. They clashed, almost comically so, with the hospital gown she was wearing. 

He'd never thought of her this way, though it was only logical that there were times when the high and impregnable walls of the dominatrix had to come down to show the woman. He'd seen it before. He'd seen the woman, the hurting mother, when she'd been flogging Leon Sneller in the desert. Now she came, pale and hurting, to him. There was a cut on her face, tracing the aristocratic line of her jaw; the carefully stitched and bandaged cut disappeared into her hairline. He could see gauze wrapped around her right arm from wrist to, what he could only guess, shoulder. She was limping a bit and her breathing seemed a little strained. She pulled an IV stand behind her. She paused at the door and offered him an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. He read her unpainted lips as she spoke, and for the first time since he realized he'd completely lost his hearing, he sorely missed it.

She posed in the doorway for a bit, letting the light come around her, giving her an angelic appearance. "Let me guess, a police officer looking for respite from having to control and dominate our big, bad city?" Her words, some of the first ones she'd ever said to him, brought a smile to his weary face. "Heather." He lifted a hand, and controlled the wince of pain that came with the movement. "Sit. You shouldn't be up and about." She raised a brow, but sat.

* * *

He looked so _strange_, there was hardly a word that befitted him more at the moment. He was sitting in the bed, electrodes taped to his forehead. One of the monitors he was hooked to was registering spikes, blips and lines. He smiled, "Electrical impulses in the brain, the most complex thought simplified down to its most elemental definition." He was staring at the gash on her face with a look of guilt on his face. "Even if it scars, and the specialist swore it wouldn't. For what I'm paying him it better not. Not unless he wants to..." She shook her head, "It isn't important. I heard they caught the bomber, well in a manner of speaking. Cami was very close mouthed about the whole thing." His brows, singed down to the root from the fire, rose a bit. "You've met Doctor Parker?" She nodded, "We're sharing a room. She has very good taste in boots and character."

No, it wasn't guilt on his face and no, he wasn't staring at her cut. The expression was one of concentration. She'd seen this look once before and this time she was sure it wasn't her lipstick. "Oh." She kept her hand out of his sight and snapped her fingers, breaking a momentary silence. He didn't blink. "Oh, Gil."

His hearing, she knew, was an important part of his job. His job was an important part of him. She couldn't imagine the inner turmoil that was churning away behind his stoic features. He wouldn't want her pity or the tears that were burning at the back of her eyes for him. She took his hand in hers and his fingers tightened around hers.

* * *

She knew. He could see the realization shimmer over her features. She smiled at him and took his hand. Her touch was cool and calming, but at the same time something within him woke up and he saw that the heart monitor jumped a bit and his brainwaves spiked too. The woman grabbed him, both mind and spirit. He was lucky to have her. 

Shadows fell across her face. Shadows, he would probably always associate her with shadows. Though the brightest lights couldn't compete with her natural glow, it was the shadows that became her. She was the most up front, yet at the same time, she was the most mysterious person he knew. She was the most irresistible woman he'd ever met. She had almost died today, and yet here she was, holding his hand.

Sybil Hart, Sheriff, Mayor, President and preconceived notions of Victorian normalcy be damned; he had Heather and, he tightened his grip on her hand, he wasn't letting go.

* * *

She'd told Zoe, "Honey, there are a lot of things you can give a man: your body, your time, even your heart. But the one thing you can never, ever, ever let go of is your power." At the time, her girl had been sixteen and well, she had needed guidance. Heather had given the first two to Zoe's father. He'd never earned the third and no one would ever have the last. Gilbert Grissom, an unassuming Entomologist whose most thrilling outlets possessed far too many legs or were made of twisted steel, was gaining a grip on all three and for the first time in her entire life, she was beginning to wonder if, perhaps, she was willing to give him her power, if only for a minute. He took her hand and grazed his lips across her cut knuckles. A little thrill went through her and she didn't even bother to squash it. Zoe would have liked him, she was sure of it. 


	57. Chapter LVI: Scars

_Chapter LVI_

_Scars_

It was as if the entire desert was in mourning. Ominous thunderclouds had moved in over the usually clear skies and they hung on, coating the neon city in gloom and the promise of a deluge of nature's tears. It was the perfect weather for a funeral.

Shrines had been erected everywhere on the still rubble-ridden intersection where Bus Twenty Seven had exploded, the pit that had been Saints and Sinners and even the Mosque where Lieutenant Johnson had died. They gathered, though, at the wreck of Saints and Sinners, the most visual and accessible of the many still-raw wounds of the city.

Flanked by two billowing oversized flags, the American and that of the State of Nevada, the Mayor read the long list of names.

The ranks of the Las Vegas Police Department and the Clark County Sheriff's Department, in full dress uniform, stood in formation, black bands were across every shield, in memory of the woman that should have been standing in their ranks. Just across the way were the Fire Fighter and Rescue Corps, honoring their fallen comrade.

There were civilians too, thousands and thousands of them. Those who had lost someone and those who had come in memory of those they had never known. In a great act of respect, Sam Braun had shut down every one of his casinos to mark the occasion, and was in attendance. Not to be outdone, other moguls had done the same. The city of Vegas had paused, completely shut down, to pay its respects to the victims of the Gods of Vegas and the heroes who had fallen fighting them.

Those who could not attend in person watched on television. Children in school watched silently; no notes were passed, no texts were messaged. The sorrow was not limited to one age or race group. All creeds and colors stood there, listening. Some people held pictures of those who had been lost. Tears, unrestrained and unashamed, fell down cheeks and when a moment of silence was asked for, the hush was unimaginable. No bets were placed, no horns honked, even the wind seemed to fall silent for a moment.

* * *

They stood there, with the rest of the ranks. Nick leaned heavily on crutches. Both of Sofia's arms were in slings and due to the burns on her legs, she had been forced to sit down only a quarter ways through the ceremony. Grissom had been forced to wear dark glasses despite the gloom. They were physical reminders of the spiritual scars the city would forever carry. The story, of the final bombing and the heroics afterward, had spread like wild fire even without Maria Rymer leading the charge. 

At the podium, Violet Wright-Fletch, the daughter of one of the many, many victims, spoke in a clear voice. "My father was born and spent his entire life here in Vegas. He raised a family here; he loved this city. The morning that he died, driving his route just like he did every other day, he kissed my Mother on the cheek and told her that her that he loved her. He was a simple man, one who never came home. We, all of us, Vegas and the entire world, are reeling. We've been reminded, once again, how precious life is. We will mourn today and we will mourn tomorrow. We will hurt and we will grieve. The scars will remain, always etched on this city and every one of our souls. We need to remember those we lost. We need to remember those who gave their lives to protect others. The loss is real, the pain is real; the scars are real. This can't be forgotten, or turned into a press hullabaloo or a political statement."

When the skies finally opened up and rained down sorrow, it seemed almost poetic. Some didn't even run, they just stood, looking up at the sky as the rain poured down and slender sun beams started to break through the thick clouds.

Could there be closure? Could there be sense made of such horror? Children striking out and hurting others, wasn't all that just a bad dream? The scars, not even fully healed yet, said other wise.

Vegas would never forget.

* * *

Nicki Watson watched them all, from a tiny wheelchair. The little girl decided that she would be a hero too. She would become a Police Officer. She would be just like Sofia, the pretty lady who had helped her out of the bad place. 

Adam Murphy stood sat at home. He wasn't welcome at the ceremony, he didn't need to be told that, he knew. He watched it play out on the 72" Plasma TV that he had bought with the money he'd bleed off of Maria Rymer. The redhead had really coughed it up for the file on that CSI bitch. Before when he'd screwed up, his family, his Uncle by Marriage was Deputy Sheriff, had fixed things. This time, though, it was game over. He looked, almost longingly, at his holstered service weapon and his fingers itched to pull the trigger one more, one last, time.

* * *

Sara Sidle stood with her family around her. She tilted her head back, allowing the rain to mix with her own tears. The deluge was over as abruptly as it had begun, and still people stayed. Beside her, Sofia sar quietly, her blue eyes miles and miles away. Sara carefully slid her arm around the woman's shoulders and she, leaned against her.

* * *

Greg watched the ceremony with a heavy heart. Around him stood the people he worked with day-in and day-out. He'd caught Hodges wiping a tear, but wouldn't say a word. David Phillips and his fiancé, held on to eachother for support. Doc Robbins wasn't there, he was at home with his own family, watching. Just like Greg was with his family now.

* * *

Jim Brass barely listened to the names. Call him selfish, but he had his own tragedies to think about. Sara, Sofia, Nick, Gil…Ellie. These kids, these snot-nosed, cold-blooded terrorist punks had been her age. So had many of the victims. He could have easily been one of the many with a lost family member to bury.

* * *

Warrick pulled Catherine close to him, unconcerned about who, if anyone, saw. She turned against him and he could feel her hot tears streak down his black dress shirt.

* * *

Gil Grissom stood not by himself, but with a statuesque redhead in jet black. Their hands were linked and though he hadn't spared her a glance, he knew she was not crying. Neither was he, but they both mourned.

All of Vegas mourned.


	58. Chapter LVII: Where Do We Go From Here?

_Chapter LVII_

_Where Do We Go From Here?_

Mick turned to his newest customer of the evening. The man had bad hair plugs, Wal-Mart clothes and a thick wad of twenties bulging out of his shirt pocket. It was the obvious flash of cash that brought Mick over to him. The bar was off strip and mostly empty. "What can I get you?" The man slid onto a stool that was only one over from a redhead who had been knocking back scotch for a good part of the last four hours. It was obvious what the man _wanted_, but Mick was a bar tender, not a miracle worker. "Let me get bourbon on the rocks and another round for the lady."

The Lady tossed back her drink with guesto. "Thanks, pal." She turned to him and the man squinted, "Hey don't I know you?" The woman chuckled and twisted the wedding band around her finger, "I don't think so, Sparky." Mick watched and wondered if he should break them up. He could sense a problem brewing. "Nah. Nah, I know you. Wait...wait, you're that News Chick, the one with Channel Five."

Maria Rymer gladly knocked back the drink the man had bought her and looked at him through bleary, red rimmed eyes. "Not anymore, Sparky, not anymore."

Above them, the television, one that had not so long ago brought her face to millions in the metro area, flickered. If she'd given two damns, she might have laughed at the report of problems at the Air Port. A blonde was being bodily hauled into a car, and she looked pissed. It might have been a story she'd attacked with gusto once. She would have probably left her husband, the one that had filed for divorce not a full year into their marriage, for and salivated over it.

She didn't, however, give a damn. Kara was dead, she'd quit her job and the only thing she looked forward to now was the bottom of a fresh bottle. She tapped the bar with her now empty tumbler, "Give me another, Mick." Oh, how far she had fallen, and the only way left was further down. She only had herself and the Gods of Vegas to blame.

* * *

She rolled over, utterly sated and comfortable. Her arm, even paler in the moonlight, rested against his chest. She nuzzled up against him. "Hi." He chuckled, "Welcome back. I thought I'd lost you there for a minute." She shook her head, the movement caused red gold locks to spill over her shoulders, and her bangs fell over her sapphire blue eyes. "I just found you; no way am I wandering off now." 

Warrick Brown, his bottom half wrapped in silk sheets, pressed a kiss to Catherine Willows' lush mouth. "Good, cause I have plans for you, girl." Her laughter rolled over him and made his smile grown wider. "You do, and just how long have you had these plans, Mr. Brown?" He rolled her over, pinning her underneath him. "How long have we known each other, Ms. Willows?" Her head darted up and she pressed her lips against his. "This could take a while." He nodded, his green eyes suddenly serious, "Yeah, it could take until the far side of forever."

Catherine felt the breath catch in her chest. "Really?" Warrick nodded, "Yeah." She smiled, "All right, Mr. Brown, I'll go along with these plans of yours, on one condition." He blinked, surprised. She ran her tongue over her teeth. "What was that about hitting shit until it cries?"

Laughter, moans and oaths echoed out of the master bedroom of the Willows home. Two souls found each other...and they had only been looking their entire lives.

* * *

She stood, unsure of herself, in front of the door. This was a bad idea. She should have never asked Sara for the address and directions. She was about to leave when the door was flung open. 

Cambridge Parker hadn't been expecting her, and the shock that went across her face proved it. "What the hell are you doing here?"  
Wendy blinked, "I just came to check on you." Cami Parker shrugged one shoulder, "Come on in." Wendy didn't need to see the half empty wine bottle in the other woman's hands to know she was three sheets to the wind.

The inside was tastefully decorated, but a little messy. Ahead of her, Cami took a swing straight from the bottle, "Sorry about the mess, I told the cleaning staff to fuck off." Wendy nodded, and took off her coat. "I see." No, she really didn't. She looked at the coffee table. She could see another empty bottle of wine, and a file. The picture, a large color Autopsy photo of a young man, stared up at her blankly. "Jesus, Cami, what's happened to you? What the hell are you doing to yourself?" The raven-haired woman laughed and flopped on the couch. "Well, Babe, I've had a pisser of a week. I have a summons somewhere around here, I'm being sued and the AMA, APA and a couple of other groups are bringing me in for a hearing. So in short, Sweet Cheeks, my career is in shambles. Oh, yes, and let's not forget I saw a little boy blow his brains all over the place." Wendy watched the woman, one whose usual control and wittiness irked her to no end, chuckle darkly and take another long pull from the wine bottle. "So I am getting shitfaced. Would you like to join me? I have another bottle around here somewhere."

Wendy shook her head, "No Thanks." Cami rolled her eyes dramatically, "Ah well, more for me, then." Wendy caught the bottle before the other woman could get it all the way to her mouth. "You're drunk." The other woman tugged at the bottle, "Obviously not enough." Wendy sighed and sat down beside the woman on the couch. "Too much already. You're not thinking clearly...what's that?" Something shiny, a flash of reflected light caught by the corner of her eye, grabbed her attention. She looked at the piece of metal hanging off of a lanyard that was snuggled between the other woman's tee-shirt covered breasts. "Oh my...That's Sybil Hart's badge. How...Why...Do I even _want_ to know?"

Cami giggled, "Well, you picked up something from all those CSIs and Detectives. I relieved Sybil-Fucking-Hart of her badge when she came to bitch at me in the hospital. Something I learned from the Wild Woman and, unlike Sar, I have no real moral objections with keeping in practice." Wendy stared at Cami, "You're kidding... This is so... Why!?"

Cami stretched out, putting her bare feet on the coffee table, on top of papers, and not-so-subtly put her arms around Wendy's shoulders. "Well, originally I was going to slash her tires and key her truck, but this seemed like a better idea. Plus, you know after Heather went all leather and atistocratic on her it seemed a little junior high. Besides she doesn't know how hard it is to check a gun without ID. Plus all the Security guys at the airport _love_ me. I keep my plane there; pay a pretty penny for it. Plus I watched the news tonight. Her ass got hauled away kicking and screaming." After another bout of odd giggles, she gave Wendy a long, steamy look. "No one calls _my girl_ eye candy and gets away with it."

Somewhere in all the drunken babbaling, that Wendy was trying to pretend wasn't utterly adorable, something actually made sense. Oh God, this was ridiculous, but at the same time it was sweet...in an illegal sort of way. "Well, I'm flattered, I think." Cami grinned, "That's me, knight in shining armor. I deserve a kiss." In a split second, Wendy realized that Cami was just drunk enough to do it and she was just infatuated enough to let it happen. She pulled her head to the side at the last second. "You're drunk," She looked at the bottle, "You've just spent an entire month of my paycheck getting smashed." Cami chuckled, "You're talking too much." She moved in again, intent on kissing Wendy.

Damn it.

She put a hand on each of Cami's shoulders and held her in place, a good two feet away from her. "No. You're. Drunk." She smiled at her, "I don't want to tell you again. I don't want you to hate yourself in the morning for something so stupid."

Cami started to laugh. She laughed until tears started coming out of her green eyes. "It's too late, Babe, I already hate myself." She looked at the table where the Autopsy photo sat. "I failed Benny. I was supposed to save him, I was supposed to help him and all I did was pull the trigger. It's my fault. It's all my fault." The last syllables of the self damnation wavered and warbled and Wendy found herself with an armful of sobbing woman.

All she could do was pick up the forgotten wine bottle before the white carpet was ruined and soothe the broken woman.

"It's okay. It's okay, I'm here for you, Cami. Let it out." She found herself pressing a kiss onto the top of Cami's head and suddenly realized that she was in over her head and she didn't care. She was right where she needed to be right now.

Somewhere, deep under all the grief, rage and guilt, there was a voice. A confident, more familiar voice, one that Wendy would have immediatly recognized. The voice only whispered now, but the victorious message, that would be decoded much later by a fuzzy and hung over Cami, was clear. One way or another Cambridge Juliet Parker always got her woman, and she had a PhD, so hopefully she was smart enough to hold on to this gem of a woman for a good long time.

* * *

It was silent. That was strange. Her home, her dominion was never silent. She'd sent them all home, all but her right hand woman; and Sonya would not disturb them, not tonight. Though they were both used to working nights, they were in bed. They were both stiff, sore and exhausted. Gilbert Grissom was in her bed, her personal bed. She hadn't taken a lover here in. Well, she couldn't actually recall the last _lover_ she'd entertained. She'd had favored submissive and she'd occasionally had a tryst with some one to fill her sexual needs, but it had been so long since she'd had a _lover_ or, to put it mundanely, a boyfriend, that she couldn't actually remember a name or a face. 

She knew he found it all fascinating, but would he understand on those nights when this house wasn't silent? Realistically, it didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to hear the screams that would echo through the halls. The doctor had confirmed that, the explosion had destroyed his ear drums and due to his condition - something about bone spurs on his inner ears - a hearing aide would never be able to help him. She knew, though, that understanding what went on here wasn't all in the auditory senses. The screams were ninety percent mental. Was he ready for this...this commitment? Of course, the better question, was she?

* * *

Her personal chambers were dark and utterly femenine. There was a framed picture of her daughter on the bedside. He lay there, between silk sheets, and admired the room and the woman who had made it. She was dressed in black silk and lace, a far cry from the leather that one would have expected. He'd once said that all deviant behavior fascinated him. He'd once believed that to understand human nature one would have to understand the aberrations there of. 

Heather wasn't an aberration. She was, quite possibly, the most normal person he knew. Which, perhaps, wasn't very normal at all. He watched her lips, well shaped and lush, move, caressing each syllable as she spoke it. He spoke to her, though he often found himself singing without thinking about it. He would miss music, he would miss laughter, he would miss Heather's voice. He would miss his job. Much of his life lay uncharted. There had always been a hypothetical situation. It had involved traveling, lecturing, and writing a book. There had never been a Lady Heather in those plans and now, as far as he was concerned, there could be no plans without a Lady Heather in them. Perhaps he was rushing, but he'd almost died and he'd almost lost her, all in the same instant. It was human nature to want the company of the ones you held close. It was human nature to love. It wasn't his nature to be social or to love, but he was beginning to wonder if he wasn't standing on the great abyss of both.

* * *

Muted music droned on in the background. Sofia couldn't identify exactly who it was. She was lying in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Ninety-nine nights out of one hundred, she ended up on her side, holding Sara. That usual scenario was out. She couldn't even have Sara put her head on her shoulder, as that would cause her to go into fits of agony. She'd said it before, being a hero hurt and it was damned inconvenient. 

She looked up, Sara stood in the doorway. The other woman was dressed in boxers and a tank top and her wet hair curled wildly around her face. She was digging her bare toes into the carpet. "Baby?" Sara looked up at her, brown eyes steady. "Hey." She had the file in her hand. Sara came over and sat on the bed. She put space between them and hugged her knees to her chest. "I thought that...I think that it's time I told you about." She sighed, "About where I come from. You need to know who I am."

If she could have rolled on her side, she would have. She turned her neck, and it protested but she did it anyway. "I know who you _are_, Sara. You're a workaholic CSI who has a nose for trouble and a lead foot. You're the woman I love and nothing is going to change that." Sara sighed. "My heart knows that, but my head isn't so sure." Sofia smiled, "Your head gets distracted by that nerdy brain of yours. Forget the folder, just tell me, Sara."

Sara took a deep breathe and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Right. The life story of Sara Selene Sidle. Okay." She closed her eyes a moment, as if to think it over or calm herself down. "I was born in a little town called Tamales Bay..."


	59. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Dawn broke over the desert. It reflected off the glass and steel of the city and filtered through her curtains and into her chambers. He looked younger in the early morning sun; sleep had relaxed his face. It looked like, for just a moment at least, he wasn't carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

She let the sunlight warm her as she stood there, staring out at the horizon where she could just see the beginnings of a new day. People would be scurrying to and fro. Children would go to school, people would go to work, and life would go on, no matter what the Gods of Vegas had done.

The Gods of Vegas; what were Gods anyway? Figments of personified faith roughly sketched out and highly honored to keep the great unwashed masses from falling into chaos? That was what Daniel Lofty, the ringleader of the group that had brought Vegas to its knees, would want the world to believe. Were they spiritual beings of light and power who watched down over everyone, deeming what was right and wrong from on-high? That was what modern religion wanted the world to believe. She didn't know. It was one of the great mysteries of life that she had yet to uncover.

The terrorists, the murderers, the thrice damned Gods of Vegas had been nothing but misled and twisted children. Children of the City of Sin. They'd been the same age as Zoe and younger. They had hurt people, scared an entire city, all in the name of petty revenge. She had almost been a God of Vegas.

Not exactly, of course. She didn't have a MySpace page, though some of her girls, especially those who worked, did. No, she had been saved from their fate by the man that was lying in her bed. He had grabbed her whip and had told her 'Stop'. He had made her head understand even as her heart didn't. Some would call him a "God Send"

Had the Gods sent Gil Grissom to her? She hadn't a clue. Long, long ago, before she'd been Lady, before she'd found herself, she'd been simply Heather. Her parents had taken her to church every single week. She'd been raised Mormon. She'd drifted from her childhood teachings ever so slightly. Christianity, Buddhism, Hindu, Islam, Wicca, the beliefs of the Ancient World: everyone had a different idea of what God was. She heard it screamed out enough every night; that was for sure.

God had become a feared word in Vegas. If she believed anything, she had to believe that if there were Gods, they could not be perfectly good or perfectly evil. The Higher Powers that watched over Vegas, and all of the world, could not be perfect. Had they been perfect, the so-called Gods of Vegas would have never killed so many. Were the Gods perfect, Zoe would still be alive. Were the Gods perfect, Gil wouldn't have a job and she supposed she would be doing something positively and mind numbingly boring, like working in Real Estate.

As far as she understood, she and everyone else was but a small player in a much larger game. Life was, she supposed, a complicated and endless Chess Game waged out between black and white, good and evil. There were those, like the Gods of Vegas, black pawns who mindlessly attacked in one direction. They lunged forward, causing as much damage as possible and burnt themselves out, leaving devastation behind them. Then there were those like Gil and those like him, white knights. Those who moved to head off the dark attackers.

What piece you were, though, was all up to you. Gil could have just as easily chosen to use his great mind to kill, as he had to catch killers. Whichever path you took, whichever role you chose, there were choices and there were consequences. Whether every person was connected by six degrees or Karma come back on you three times, it all came down to one thing.

They were but pieces to be manipulated, tested and thrown around at the whims of the fickle Gods and in the end it wasn't where you had started or even where you ended up, for they were all fodder for the worms in the end, it was what you had accomplished with your time on the board.

The Gods of Vegas might have left jagged scars, but the Saviors of Vegas, Gil Grissom, Sofia Curtis, Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Greg Sanders, and all that fought with them, they were the ones that would be remembered. Scars fade, Gods are forgotten, but Legends live forever, especially in Las Vegas.

Fin

Author's Note: So many thoughts and thanks, and so little time.

A huge thanks goes out, as always, to my beta reader HoneyLynx86.

Another biggie goes to my best friend Jenn, who patiently listened to me rant, moan, groan and generally babble about the plot without _too_ many complaints.

More thanks go to: El Gringo Loco, Immi, NadehdaSt, and everyone else who reviewed. Every insight, funny thought and line of praise egged me on and kept me going, even when I wanted to throw in the towel.

This series has been long, around 150,000 words for all three stories, and it's been a joy to write. Before anyone (else) asks: No, there will be no sequel. This is it, folks. Don't fret you ever-loving little heads, though, I'm already hard at work on my next CSI adventure, but there will be no spoilers here.

Thanks for Reading, and Happy Holidays

RebelByrdie


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